


Baby Daddy, Dick

by TheLoneMeme



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/F, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Locus is a bebe, M/M, Sarge is a Good Man, Trans Dick Simmons, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, everyone is either gay or trans, felix is an asshole, fite me, future grimmons, future kai/south, future tuckington, kai is a Gift, lots of swearing, or both? both is good, the author will go the fuck down with these ships, the club au only one person asked for, unhealthy felix/locus, very mild ref to sh but still worth tagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 20:48:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12779229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLoneMeme/pseuds/TheLoneMeme
Summary: What's a rag tag group of losers supposed to do when their shitty past comes back to haunt them? Probably not antagonize it. But, hey, no one ever said they were smart.My au which features tired Grif, badass Kai, former military/current genius Simmons, gym owner Wash, and Best Dad Ever Tucker. And lots of half-assed references to the original show. Summaries are hard. Enjoy.





	1. Future Baby Daddy

Grif had no right, really, being so tired. He knew that, Kai had yelled at him enough about it when he showed up to his shift five minutes late with Starbucks. But really, what did she expect of a 28 year old bartender who still drank like he was 22? A lot, apparently. Grif had to bite his tongue to not remind he that she ran their businesses (since when had it become plural? Jesus, Kai could haul ass when she wanted) almost single handedly for a very good, totally-not-related-to-Grif’s-laziness reason. So he liked to take it slow, so what? Who was she to tell him when and where he needed to work? Other than being his boss, she literally had zero control over Grif’s life. 

“Hey GRIF?!” Kai shouted over the noise in the nightclub, snapping him out of his well deserved daze. “Do you feel like, I don’t know, making me my drinks? I’m clearing tables because fucking Doughnut didn't fucking show up and I really need a bartender who, you know, TENDS BAR!” 

Half of the sloppy drunk college kids leaning against the sleek black bartop were staring at Grif (very helpful, thanks guys) as Kai shouted. Setting down the glass he had been drying, he made his way around Tucker, who was laughing quietly to himself at Grif’s misfortune. Grif snatched the order slip from Kai’s fingers.

“Who the fuck orders Coors Lite at a nightclub? Fucking college kids.” He muttered, grabbing the two beers she needed and setting them up on a tray. “Kai, switch with me. I can’t get hit on by any more straight women.”

Kai’s face went from livid to shocked in a heartbeat. “You hate serving, bro. Am I supposed to believe you’re just going to be chill with me booting you from behind your nice little barricade and throwing you to the heterosexual wolves?”

Grif leaned down, hand on Kai’s shoulder. “No. I fucking hate this. But North, South, and Wash just walked in, and you’ve been trying to get in South’s pants since high school. So I’m playing nice. And Tucker, god save his gay ass, desperately needs a wingman who gives a shit about his sex life. Also I’m coming in an hour late tomorrow. Love you!”

The last part of Grif’s statement was laughed over his shoulder as he shimmied his way past Kai and onto the packed floor of Blood Gulch, Kai's latest venture into entertainment, tray held over his head to avoid getting drenched in shitty beer. Again. Kai shouted after him, but Grif knew she wouldn’t follow. A night on bar with Tucker (who hated doubling up on bar, and booted Kai to fetching bottled drinks and running for more booze) while South was within reach was too good of an opportunity to waste. Especially if she got to witness Tucker and Wash awkwardly not-flirt throughout the entire shift.

Making his way to the V.I.P. section and slipping behind the velvet ropes always made Grif’s skin crawl. Stupid schmucks and their stupid better-than-you money. Couldn’t be bothered to wait for a table, so they paid out the ass to have a slightly sticky, definitely not Very Important table for the night. 

“Dexter Grif!” Grif spun in a slow circle, already forcing on his customer service face (thank god for ten years of food-service work). 

“Felix! So good to see you, man. You and Locus in town for the night?” Grif responded, automatic and insincere. 

Felix’s smile was as slimy as his fucking mustache. “Just came to scope the new place out. Love the location. Who did your baby sister blow to secure it? God only knows they don’t sell places like this to people like that for no good reason. Times are so tough on you two that she even has you waiting tables, with that face? Bless your little heart,  _ dude _ .” 

Locus looked at Grif apologetically, looking like he was about to open his stupid mouth. Grif shook his head, not taking his eyes away from Felix. He had known them since highschool (how had none of them left this town yet? Jesus), and had seen first hand the damage Felix would do if someone spoke out against him. 

“She said there was a rat in the V.I.P. section, wanted me to see if my ugly mug could smoke it out. Is it working?” Grif spat. He knew, in the heat of the club, that the drinks he was carrying were very close to needing to be replaced. He had to end this before Cheap Beer Dude lost his nuts over flat cat piss. 

Locus must have noticed too, because he leaned over Felix’s shoulder, pressing his body against him. He whispered in his ear, and Felix’s face went dark. Locus leaned back, his work done. Unhealthy as they were, they both had far too much control over the other. 

“Perfectly. I don’t think this club was worth what we paid the valet. Too bad, Griffy. I’ll have to make an offer on the location once this place goes under.” He stood, “Locus, baby, we’re leaving.”

With that, they huffed off, Locus sparing a glance over his shoulder in silent sympathy. Grif sighed, moving further into the grouping of tables. Finding the right one, occupied by two men and a woman, he tried to set down their glasses as gracefully as one could set down two beers and a sparkling water.

“‘Bout time, boy!” Came a gruff shout from a burly man in a maroon suit, face flushed red in the heat. His glossy black cowboy boots matched his stupid black cowboy hat and stupid southern accent. “We’ve been waitin’ on these drinks for too long, I tell ya!”

The second man at the table looked resigned, reaching for and downing half of his beer before chastising the older man. “Sarge, come on, it’s a nightclub. If you wanted the drinks fast you could have gone to the bar to wait.” 

Grif blinked. Since when had dudes who were rich enough to have half cybernetic faces (and at least one cybernetic arm, from what Grif could see) gotten polite? He was easily sporting, like, the cost of a small country in just hardware. Guys like that were what Kai called ‘future baby daddies’. 

“The last time I did that Tucker threw a plastic cup at me and told me that if I wanted shitty beer I might as well piss in it and drink that for free.” Sarge mumbled, adjusting his hat. 

“For good reason, I might add.” Piped in the woman, chipper and bright. She grinned at Grif, eyes slightly crazed. “Did you know that cheap beer and urine actually have similar PH levels? I tried to get him to order a martini. Says they’re for girls. Since when is vodka less manly than beer? The times, I tell you-” 

The second man held up a hand, cutting off the seemingly endless chatter from the woman, who reeled back so quickly that her silky gray shift dress almost slipped off her shoulder. Silence weighed for a moment, and Grif scrambled for something, anything, to say to somehow wrap up this conversation without absolutely demolishing his chance of earning a decent tip. The second man saved him. 

“I think that’s all we need. Unless you have something else to add?” He turned sharply to Sarge, eyebrows raised. His organic eye was a sharp blue, making his obvious fire-crotchyness something that might resemble imposing. A difficult task, in Grif’s book.

“Simmons, you’ve become a real piece of work since you got rich and fancy, you know that?” Sarge mumbled. The woman looked amused, so Grif figured this was an old argument, already resolved. 

“It’s all to make up for making me stay awake for three days during basic, Sarge. Payback, as you're so fond of saying, is a bitch.” Simmons leaned back, arms crossed. He looked up at Grif. “Didn’t I say that was all?”

Grif felt his mouth open, felt himself snap it shut. Fucking asshole. And he had seemed like such nice future baby daddy material. Sad. Grif forced a smile, backing away from the table before turning to head back to the bar. Kai’s potential hook-up be damned, Grif needed to be far and away from Asshole Robot and his crazy entourage. Fucking rich dudes. 

 


	2. Fuck the Universe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly introductions/to write myself out of a couple of corners before I accidentally screw myself over. Lost of swearing. As always.   
> Everyone is love struck and no one is safe.

The shift ended, eventually. Tucker could feel his feet literally trying to fall off of his body. Fucking college kids. Tucker would follow Kai and Grif to the ends of the business-venture earth, he really would, but nights like tonight made him wonder just how worth it it was to keep tending bar in loud, dim nightclubs. Stuffing a little over three hundred dollars in his pocket definitely made it seem slightly more worth it. Junior’s birthday was in a month, and the kids had been begging to take a trip to see his grandparents. Some extra cash made it a little easier to justify the time off. 

And really, Tucker reasoned, it could be worse. Wash had stuck around til bar close, even joking with him and Kai as he helped set the stools up. God, fucking wash. Fucking Kai and South and their endless needling. And North with his bullshit not at all helpful ‘I don’t get involved’ fuckery. God. Tucker was so fucked, and not in the fun way. Wash, Kai, South, Grif. They had all been there when Tucker had junior, when his life went to shit. They found him his apartment, his weird roommates who both worked for Kai and baby sat for free drinks and food at Blood Gulch or Chorus, Kai and Grif’s nightclub and restaurant, respectively. He felt his face flush with shame at the thought of ever being that needy, that helpless. His was grateful, but damn. That had been eight years ago, but still. Anxiety closed around Tucker’s throat at the thought going back to that place.  

A hand come down firmly on his shoulder, broad and warm. Tucker started, losing his train of thought. 

“Tucker, you really need to think quieter. I think that the glasses can hear you when you are like this.” Caboose, the giant blonde busboy, said. At 6’4”, he towered over almost everyone who worked at the club. He looked more like a bouncer to Tucker, but the dude had named his pitbull Fluffy, for god’s sake. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. 

“Sorry, Mike. AM I in your way, man. I can move.” 

“You are not in my way, Tucker. You are just needing to go home. Because I am needing to go home. And you, um, you drove us here today. Yesterday, technically, but today sounds better.” 

Right. Driving. Home. Bed. Caboose was an odd dude, but he kept Tucker on track when he went all fuzzy around the edges. 

“Do you wanna drive tonight, Caboose? I’m a little out of it.” He rubbed at his eyes, adding to the effect. 

“Church never lets me drive, Tucker. I would like that very much.” Caboose’s face lit up, blue eyes all glittery in the atmospheric lighting. It was moments like these where Tucker could really get what Church saw in him. 

“Yeah, dude. Then let’s go home.” 

 

****

 

As far as South could tell, Kai was a stone cold bitch. Warm smile, welcoming vibes. All buddy-buddy with her brother and willing to put up with North’s complete and utter lack of, like, emotion. But she stonewalled South. Skimmed over her in conversation, kept out of her personal space. Shit like that is too easy to take personal. Like, what’s a girl to do when the girl she’s been chasing for, you know, eight fucking years, has no interest? North would tell her to make a move, but pouting is a viable option in any situation. Or violence. Which is how South wound up dragging a half-drunk Wash to a 24-hour gym at 2 a.m., after leaving Blood Gulch.

“I don’t-ugh-get it!” South muttered around her mouthguard, taking a solid kick to the shin as Wash advanced. “I try, and try, and fucking try. Does she not see it? Am I not-ouch, dude, unfair-an obvious enough lesbian? I wore flannel, Wash-oof-flannel!” 

Wash’s face was hard to read, mostly because he had managed to knock South on her ass, and reading men while upside down was like reading braille from three hundred yards. She spat her mouth guard out, tossing it towards her gym bag by the edge of the mat. 

“I wouldn’t think too much about it. Relationships are shitty anyways.” Came Wash’s eventual reply, after he mimicked South's actions and didn't have a mouth full of silicone. 

“You’re just saying that because you’ve been trying to get in Tucker’s pants since you met him six years ago, dude.” South sat up, not bothering to stand. “Just because you’re bitter and single doesn’t mean I have to be.”

Wash, for lack of a better term, flopped on the floor next to her. 

“I-” he held his breath, exhaling slowly. “I get it. I hate it, but I get it. Sometimes, the people you want to hold closest are just so fucking far out of reach.”

South looked down at him as he laid on his back on the wrestling mat. 

“You’re such a drama queen.” She said, finally, and joined him on the floor. 

 

****

 

Simmons loved his job, really. Since leaving the army, he couldn’t have prayed for a better career. An accidental prosthetics designer, Simmons felt he was actually  _ doing _ something for the first time in years. But there were days, days where the joined flesh and old metal ached. Where Grey and Sarge, for all their good intentions, just made whatever roadblock in engineering he was dealing with seem all that much more insurmountable. Tonight had been….not his best night. 

He had been doing fine. Chatting, laughing, trying so damn hard to stay focused even as he could feel his body wanting to just curl up and sleep. He had even agreed to that stupid new club. And then that fucking waiter happened. 

Simmons was awkward, beyond awkward, on the best of days. Good looking men were terrifying things to be avoided at any and all costs. He had once paid a hostess to NOT seat him in any section with cute men. His life, really, was a struggle. And one night, one single night, he lets his guard down. The cute brunette, all long curls and dimples, took their order and bounced away, all broad shouldered beauty. And then some asshole with a his hair slicked up in a ponytail, all black button down and dark eyes, fucking sauntered up to the table like he owned the damn place. How can the universe expect a very awkward, very gay, very hopeless man to react? Probably not like an absolute asshole, but the universe could go fuck itself. Just this once. 

Sarge had given him an odd look after Mr. Brighteyes had left their table, but Grey kicked him under the table with swift certainty, never stopping her endless chatter. Simmons, for what must have been the thousandth time, was grateful. She went on and on, talking her way around one of their latest issues. As his sole medical consultant, she was inexplicably valuable. Her input on both the practicality and ease of integration of Simmons’ prosthetics were the only reason he had found success.  

Back in his safe, albeit small, apartment, Simmons found himself slowly undressing. He knew, rationally, that he could afford a much better place. But he liked where he lived. In house laundry, free wifi, quiet neighbors. Wash gave him endless shit for it, but who was he to judge? He lived above a gym, for christ’s sake. Granted, he owned that gym. But still. 

Finally undressed, Simmons avoided the mirror. His prosthetics were a part of him now, as easy as breathing, but the scars on his chest from top surgery were still pink. He loved that he had had it, he really did, but it was almost...overwhelming to look at. Like all of those years building up that moment weighed too heavy on his shoulders for it to even be joyous. Whatever.

Sighing, he laid down in bed. He’d go back, he resolved. He’d bribe Wash to come with him. He always talked about some bartender there that he liked, wanted to fuck? Either way, a bartender would be a good way to find out who he had fucked over. Simmons’ stupid, rude-ass brain supplied him with a fresh view of Mr. Tall, broad, and handsome. Who the fuck gave some 20-something year old asshat the right to look like he could either fuck him senseless or cuddle him into oblivion, or both? Fuck the universe, honestly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EVERYONE IS LIKE TOTALLY TRANS OKAY LET ME HAVE MY HEAD CANNONS   
> okay so not everyone but, like, most of them. i just rly love my trans kids, okay?   
> is it less weird if I mention I'm trans/not like obsessed w trans people? i dont think that helps. oh well


	3. What DOES the Fox Say?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simmons really doesn't need both legs to put both feet in his mouth.

One bad night wasn’t the end of the world. Grif had had enough bad nights to know that. If he could survive the first few months of Chorus’s opening, he could survive pretty much anything. But he felt entitled, somehow, to a lazy morning. And who was to judge him if he stayed in his pajamas til 4 p.m.? His days of shitty college roommates were over, thank god, Kai was the only one who would even witness his hot mess of a life until he left for work. With that in mind, he set about making french toast. The silence in the kitchen felt heavy without Kai. 

Picking up his cell, he called down to Tucker, who lived two floors beneath him. 

“Wha’.” Came Tucker’s sleepy, annoyed response. 

“I’m making food if you and your little shit want breakfast. Or noonfast, since it’s like 11:30 already. Kai got pretty wrecked last night, so it should be quiet up here for a while. Haul ass, buddy.” With that, Grif hung up. Being a dick to Tucker after a long night was like therapy. 

Fifteen minutes later, a groggy Tucker shuffled into his apartment, his 8 year old son bundled up in a blanket and flung over his father’s shoulder. He was giggling, his dreads piled up on top of his head. He looked exactly like Tucker had in middle school. Grif’s heart twisted. He had watched Tucker carry Junior, held him as he cried after he was born. He knew, really, that junior wasn’t his kid. But Tucker had said more times than anyone that those of them who had been there from the beginning, since Chorus’s opening, really, were just as much a part of Junior's life as he was. 

Moving around the island in his small kitchen, Grif scooped Junior off of Tucker’s slumped shoulders, shoving him towards the running coffee pot. He hooked the stool he kept in the kitchen specifically for junior towards him with his toe, setting him down between the armrests and scooching him towards the island counter. 

“No robot legs this morning, kiddo?” Grif asked, ruffing up Junior’s hair. 

“No. Dad said he carry me. And I forgot to charge my left foot last night. You know how it is.” He replied, sighing. Grif smiled. Tucker had raised a good kid. Matter of fact, made of sarcasm. His little lisp due to his missing front tooth just made him seem, somehow, even more adult. “And I need to re-caliberatate the knee joint on my right leg. It keeps freezing. Dad says it’s because I spilled root beer on it, but it’s waterproof. Does waterproof mean root beer proof, Dexter?”

Grif laughed, shaking his head. “You’ll have to ask your dad that one, kid. Or that Mr. S you’re always going on about. Maybe he knows.”

“Mr. S knows everything, Grif. But I don’t want him to know I spilled soda on my leg. He’ll think I’m a baby.” 

Tucker was leaning on the counter next to his son, sipping his coffee. He looked at Grif and then turned to Junior, laughter in his still-sleepy eyes. 

“You are a baby.” He muttered, shaking his head. 

“DAD!” Junior shouted, flopping back into his chair with exactly the sort of drama that Grif saw in Tucker daily. “You cried when we watched Wally, dad. You’re never allowed to call me a baby again.” He said, crossing his arms. 

“I birthed you, kid. Thirteen hours. I get to call you a baby until god himself comes down and tells me not to.” 

Junior sighed, looking at Grif with his father’s signature ‘ _ do you see what I live with?’ _ expression on his young face. Grif just shrugged his shoulders, taking in the pair. Identical masses of dreads on their heads, same sparkling brown eyes. Same hungry expressions as they both eyed the pile of french toast Grif had sitting on the counter. Serving them each a plate, he picked up Junior and set him in the living room, handing him the Xbox controller. 

“I gotta talk to your dad. Think you can handle playing some Halo while I guilt him into asking Wash out?” Grif asked, kneeling next to him. Junior nodded enthusiastically, hair flying. Grif turned back to the kitchen, grabbing a cup of coffee as he heard Juniors game load.

“You talk to Wash last night?” He asked, turning towards Tucker. 

“Die in a fire, Dex.” Tucker spat, looking mournful. 

“Taking that as a yes. Is he still with, what was his name? Marshal? Maxwell?”

“Maine. And sort of. Apparently he caught him flirting with some personal trainer at the gym, caused some big spiff. South thinks it’s over. North is pretty sure Wash is too needy to be single. And I’m too desperately in love with someone who will literally never be interested to ever say a word.” Tucker looked annoyed, stabbing his food with extra precision. 

“Dude. Wash has been interested in you for, like, years. He was late to the game with you and Junior, I know, but six years? He would have walked if he wasn’t interested.”

“No, he would have made a move if he  _ was _ . I’m not his type, Grif. Have you seen Maine? Or York? Those are the guys he’s interested in. Not dudes who have popped out kids.” The last sentence was muttered, small and uncertain. He looked over his shoulder, making sure Junior wasn’t listening. “He’s what matters, you know? And he adores Wash. Fuck, Wash is how we even found out about GreyTech. He’s known this Mr. S dude since basic, apparently. That friendship is the only reason Junior has his prosthetics. I can’t pay back that sort of favor with a ‘ _ hey dude, I’ve loved you for six years! Suprise! _ ’. He’s not interested.”

Grif bit his cheek. Kai was always so much better with this shit. 

“So maybe he’s not interested. But his interest in you doesn’t change your worth, Tucker.” Grif’s voice was soft, vulnerable. He tried for joking, missing by yards. “If he doesn’t want to date a kick-ass, good looking dad, that’s on him. Besides, I worked with him in the kitchen at Chorus, remember? The dudes an asshole. You deserve better. Fuck him.” 

“That is exactly what I am trying to do. It’s not going so well.” 

Grif sighed, slinging an arm around Tucker’s shoulders. He found himself silently praying that Kai would wake up. 

 

****

 

Kai was getting incredibly fucking sick of hangovers. Just, jesus. What had she done to deserve this sort of tomfuckery from the world? Nothing, that’s what. Sure, the five shots of blueberry moonshine she had done after close probably didn’t help, but really. She was 25! Who was the world to punish her for having a little fun. Or for being self pitying. She had earned a drink, honestly. Besides, it’s not like she drove drunk. Dex had dragged her sad, drunk ass back to their apartment. 

Rubbing her forehead, she reached around for her phone, silently praying that she hadn’t drunk texted South. God, fucking South. As if Kai’s life wasn’t stressful and busy enough without an obvious lesbian trying to flirt with her from across bar. North was, unsurprisingly, no help whatsoever. The stoic asshole would rather mope silently while waiting for South and Wash to fuck themselves up enough for him to make a polite excuse, call them a taxi, and slip back home to Theta. Excellent father. Asshole friend. 

Finally finding her phone, Kai scrambled to open all of the conversations she could have potentially turned into small forest fires. She had texted Wash ‘trucks’, with five eggplant emojis attached. God, Wash and Tucker. Idiots in love. Wash just needed to finally end it with York-wait, no, Maine was the newest one. 

Kai groaned and rolled out of bed, groggily making her way towards the smell of Grif’s cooking. When she reached the kitchen, she found Grif and a morose looking Tucker. Grif just rolled his eyes at her and pointed her towards a glass of water and bottle of aspirin that he had set by the sink. God bless big brothers.

 

****

 

Simmons hated loud noises, hated college kids, hated clubs. But he was a man on a mission. He had been an asshole, and this was his penance. Wash clapped a hand down on his shoulder, clearly hyped by the vibrant, almost violent energy of Blood Gulch. The lighting, all bright orange, yellow, blue, and pink left him dizzy. He wanted to find a door. Or a bucket. Either one would work. 

“You’re supposed to have fun at clubs, Dickie!” Wash shouted in his organic ear, hot breath on Simmons’ neck. 

“We have very different definitions of fun, Davie.” He spat back. Wash just laughed.

“Dude, not even your bullshit attitude can ruin this. I get to watch you try and apologize. To a good looking man. This is gonna suck so fucking hard for you, dude. Seriously. I’m never going to forget this moment.” Wash was grinning from ear to ear.

“You’re the worst!” He shouted at him, feeling both petulant and petty.

“Hell yes I am. Now come be my wingman while I try and fail to flirt with Tucker.” He said, grabbing Simmons’ arm. 

Things could always be worse, Simmons reasoned. He could be on fire. He could be naked. He could be….okay, so not a lot of things were worse than this. But if he was naked, on fire, AND in a loud nightclub, that would probably be worse. Hopefully. 

 

****

 

The noise in the club was deafening. Grif should have been used to it, but even after the club’s racious grand opening weekend, he didn’t feel adjusted. Who the fuck was picking the music? ‘What Does the Fox Say’ stopped being relevant before it was even released. He could put up with a lot. But some things were just too far. 

“Kai!” He yelled across bar, catching her attention. She flipped him off, raising her tray of drinks over her head and diving back into the fray of college kids who were all trying to find someone to take home for the night . 

Blood gulch wasn’t an exclusively college-marketed bar, but with a reputation of carding, they drew in the upperclassmen who wanted a night away from baby faced kids and potentional jailbait. Luckily, once you got away from the dance floor directly in front of the bar, things thinned out into those who were looking to get laid and not get knocked up, like reasonable adults. 

It could be fun, though, watching the hot mess unfold. For example, the twins who had the misfortune of having Doughnut as their waiter. He and Tucker had a bet going on which one of the poor purple-suit-wearing suckers was going to wind up in Doughnut’s bed. Tucker had his money on the angry one, but if Grif knew Doughnut (he should, they had roomed together for two years), he knew he liked his men quiet, squeaky, and incredibly kinky. And Doc, as he had taken to calling his favorite, had ‘submissive bitch’ written all over his face. He’d be wearing Doughnut’s pink collar by the end of the week. 

Grif was just starting to hit his stride, falling into an easy pattern with Tucker, keeping up on orders while also keeping up his best ‘tip me, I’m pretty’ face. Some college boy, all flushed skin and drunken discoordination, had just slipped him his tip (with his number written on a dollar bill, dear jesus), when Grif spotted Wash out of the corner of his eye. He raised a hand in greeting, using it as an excuse to slip away from the poor fumbling college kid. He was just about to grab Wash’s usual order when he spotted who he had with him. Could Grif’s life get worse? No. 

Simon, or whatever his name was, from the table of Rich Assholes, was walking up with him. At least he had the decency to avoid Grif’s eyes. Wait, was he supposed to be insulted by that? He decided that, yes, he should be. If you’re gonna dis the owner of a club and then show up at that exact same club, you should at least have big enough balls to make eye contact. Rude, motherfucker, rude. 

“You’re not getting shit from me until  _ that _ ,” Grif gestured to Rich Assfuck, “is no longer with you.” 

Richie Rich’s face did something funny at that, going from passively apologetic to ‘I’ll fuck you up fam’ in a heartbeat. Even Wash looked startled. Whatever, Grif could be pissy if he wanted to be. Something akin to amazement dawned on Wash’s face.

“No, no, Simmons! Dude. You didn’t…” Wash trailed off into laughter. “Simmons, Grif owns Blood Gulch with his sister, Kai. God, Simmons. Fucking asshole. Damn. I should have filmed this.” He grabbed bar, hanging off of it while resting his weight on his wrists and using the leverage to lean over it, yelling at Tucker. “Tuck, did you get that? God, I’ve been fucking blessed.” 

Still laughing, Wash made his way to Tucker’s end of bar, leaving Grif with a very red, very angry looking ‘Simmons’. 

“You’re an ass.” He said, or shouted, really. 

“You were rude! I didn’t-you were-I object!” Simmons yelled back, nostrils flaring. 

“Dude, this isn’t fucking court. You’re in my club. With my people. I have the high ground buddy. You wanna drink? Play a game with me.” Grif poured a shot of Patron, a challenge. 

Simmons sat huffily at the bar. Hook. “Fine.” Line. “What do you want?” Sinker.

“Do you always treat wait staff like shit?”

“I-NO. You just, you startled me. I’m not used to....noise. And people. And you were so….obtuse to the table you waited before ours.” He glared, waiting. 

“To Felix? Have you met him? He might as well be an entire on fire trash can.” Grif shook his head, passing the shot to Simmons. Once it was gone, he poured another. “Why are you in my club if you’re just gonna defend abusive assholes?” 

Simmons stopped for a moment, face cautious and still. “I came to apologize.” He said, almost too quiet to hear over the noise. 

“And how’s that working out for you?” Grif asked, pushing the second shot towards Simmons, who took it. 

“Not well. I can be an ass, when I’m stressed. And I’m stressed when it’s loud. And bright. And my friends disappear to hit on the guys they want to fuck but don’t have to balls to actually fuck.” He glanced at Wash, bitter. 

“DUDE! I fucking knew it. Nice. Tucker has had, like, the worst fucking schoolboy crush on him for literally years. It’s so fucked.” Grif felt himself grinning, watching Wash wait around for Tucker like a kicked puppy. Interesting. 

“Wash is….Bad with feelings. And people.”

“No shit, dude. I’ve worked with him for years. I don’t know how the fuck he ever gets laid. Must be his dick, I guess. I mean, I’d jump him if Tucker hadn’t already laid claim. Cause, like, damn.” When Grif looked back, Simmons’ face had closed off again. 

“This was a mistake.” He said, standing. “I’m not interested in games tonight. Or ever. Unlike other people here, my time has value.” 

Grif was once again left gaping at Simmons. 

“Jesus, you’re a massive assfucker. God, fucking rich dudes, I swear. What even is your issue? You know what? Nevermind. Get out of my club. Just fucking leave. I don’t give a single god-damned motherfuck.”

Simmons was flushed, glaring. His small stature did nothing to make him look less intimidating. Grif grabbed his walkie from under the bar. 

“Church, Carolina.” A pause, the cackle of static. 

“Yeah, G?” Church answered. 

“I’ve got someone who needs to be removed. Mind checking him out for me?” Grif didn’t break eye contact with Simmons. Asshole motherfucking shitlord. 

Church’s reply came after a startled pause. “Sure thing, Dex. Do I need to collect, or I.D. on the way out?”

Grif raised his eyebrows at Simmons, who looked ready to deck him. “You gonna leave, or do I need to make a scene?” Simmons’ only response was to step back, fists uncurling at his sides. 

“I.D. on the way out Church. Redhead, half robot. Keep an eye out for an asshole with a superiority complex. Can’t miss him.” 

“Dex…” Came Church’s eventual, hesitant response. A sigh came through the static a minute later. “He’s gone, okay? Got in some fancy red sportscar and sped off. Remind me not to piss you off.” 

“No shit. Thanks Church.”

“Anytime, bossman. Signing off.”

The static went dead. Grif was still fuming. Poor Washington picked the exact wrong moment to come looking for Richie Rich. 

“Dude, what’d you to Simmons?” He asked, looking buzzed and happy. 

“He ran off, tail between his fucking legs. Don’t bring him back here, Wash. He’s an absolute assfuck.” Grif spat. Wash’s face fell. 

“I’d blame you for this, but I don’t think I even can. That dude could put both feet in his mouth even when he’s not wearing his prosthetic. Tell Tuck goodbye for me? Simmons doesn’t do well alone when he’s like this. I gotta go, man.” Wash was backing away from bar, looking apologetic. 

“Sure he’s worth it?” Grif asked, leaning on the bartop. 

“Most days, Dex.” With that, Wash waved a final farewell over the heads of dancing college kids to Tucker and disappeared. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm tryin, kids. Three chapters, two days. an effort is being made. also, hi kayla. Hi commenter whose name I dont remember bc im a mess but you always comment and ur great. enjoy, yall.


	4. This Needs to be Bloody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter comes with some huge trigger warnings attached. Referenced self harm and drug use, unsolicited phone sex, and coercive relationships. Please read with caution. If you want to read the fic, but can't read this chapter, leave a comment and I'll summarize. Tucker's section of the chapter is where most of the shitty shit is.

Simmons had never defined himself as trans. That was someone else's label for him. Something other people saw, while he was just desperately scrambling to be normal, to be himself. He knew, he  _ knew _ that one assholes comment shouldn’t matter. But he hadn’t been so blatantly othered since basic, hadn’t felt that particular sting since before he started hormones. 

_ “ _ _ You’re not getting shit from me until  _ that _ is no longer with you.”  _

Simmons shook his head. He was a multimillionaire, he was happy, he was successful. He had Sarge, Wash, Grey. He was helping people. Anger shook through his limbs. He could feel the static feeling start under his skin, the crawling need to  _ damage _ . Before he had met Sarge, he had always been his own target. Now, he dug his phone from his back pocket, hitting Wash’s contact. 

“Dude, where are you?” Wash said, worry and annoyance laced his voice. 

“Your place. The gym, more specifically. Wanna come let me in? I need to fucking pumble something, man.” Simmons said, resting his forehead on the steering wheel. There was a pause from Wash. 

“Yeah, yeah, D. I’ll be there in ten. Don’t go anywhere.” Wash hung up without a goodbye. 

 

****

 

Tucker could feel his phone buzzing in his pocket. And buzzing. And buzzing. Eventually, he waved Grif down for long enough to excuse himself. At a certain point, he had to wonder if Caboose needed something for Junior. Without looking at the ID on his screen, he answered. 

“You’ve got Tucker. Shoot.” He spat out, jogging down the short flight of stairs that led into the basement of Blood Gulch. If he was taking a personal call, he might as well be the booze bitch. 

“God, that voice. Fuck.” Came the silky smooth reply. Tucker’s hands went clammy. 

“What do you want, Felix?” He tried to sound assertive, but he knew his voice was shaking. 

“You. Your body. You, me, and Locus so fucked up we can’t stand.” Felix said, his breath catching. Tucker felt his stomach turn. 

“I have a kid, Felix. A son. I don’t fuck with that shit anymore. So what do you really want?” 

“Wanna hear you. Wanna watch you. Wanna be in you again.” Felix’s breath stuttered again, confirming what Tucker had assumed. 

“You have a boyfriend, Felix. Is jerking off to my voice really the closest you can get to getting fucked?” Loathing simmered at the edge of every word. Felix just chuckled. 

“Locus is fucking me right now, babe. Slow, even, just like I used to fuck you. You want in? I found a new dealer. His shits so pure that even I’m seeing stars.” Felix purred. 

Tucker felt sick. He needed to leave. Needed to go home. Wanted to see Junior, but couldn’t stand the guilt that settled in his gut every time he looked at his legs. 

“That shit fucked up my kid, Isaac. You even think of bringing that close to me again and I’ll murder you where you fucking stand.” 

“Baaabby…” Felix whined, voice high and needy. “You’re no fun when you’re sober.”

Tucker hear a shuffle on the other end of the line. 

“I’m getting tired of these games, Tucker. Are you in?” Locus’s voice, soothing and even as ever, came through. Sober. Tucker breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Sammy-” His throat closed. “Locus, I’m sorry. But no. I have Junior. I can’t. I can’t anymore.”

Locus hummed. “Felix, say goodbye to Tucker. He can’t join our little game tonight. Too busy being father of the year.” Tucker heard Felix whine again, petulant and pitiful. “Says he hates us both, couldn’t stand the thought of you in him ever again. Can’t say I blame him.”

Tucker wanted to cry. Wanted his kid. Wanted to get high and fuck himself up for the next week. “Thank you, Samuel. We’re gonna get you out of there, okay babe? You just gotta let us find a way. You just gotta trust me. I need you to say my name if you trust me, if you’re sober enough to understand. I’m not gonna leave you with him.”

“Goodbye, Tucker.” Locus said, and the line went dead. 

Tucker rested against the wall, sliding down. With shaking hands, he pulled up Caboose’s number. 

“Tucker, I am so glad you are calling. Junior says he would like to watch another Star War, but I said two is enough. Do you know how many Star Wars there are, Tucker? So many…” Caboose whispered the last part, and Tucker could almost see his stricken face. 

“Hey Caboose. I need you to listen, okay? Make sure the doors are locked before bed tonight, alright? And leave Fluffy in Junior’s room tonight. We’ve got a code Folix, and I just-” He swallowed hard. “I need to know you two are safe, okay?” 

Caboose went quiet. “I do not like when we go code Folix. But I will leave Fluffy with Junior tonight. And I will sleep on the couch, so I can see the door. When I can see, nothing bad can get me, right Tucker?”

“Right, big guy. I’m gonna let Church know, okay buddy? You two just hang tight until we get home. You don’t need to worry.”

“I know, Tucker. You and Church will make everything safe again, just like before.”

“Just like before.” Tucker promised, praying he could make it so. “I’m gonna go. Tell Junior that he can watch one more Star War, okay?”

“Okey dokey Tucker. Bye-bye.” 

With that, Tucker ended the call to Caboose. He grabbed his walkie from his belt, switching to securities channel. 

“Church? It’s Tuck.”

“I’ve got ya, Tucker. What do you need?” 

“We have a...situation.”

 

****

 

Church was getting fucking sick and tired of Felix’s shit. Honestly. Who gave him the fucking right? After talking to Tucker via the walkies, Church had had to track down Kai, Grif, and Carolina. C went to find him, to get Tucker home to Junior and Caboose where he could be anchored and keep an eye out for trouble. Grif’s face had gone dark, his already imposing stature seemed to grow even larger with his fury. Kai had closed the club at barely half past one. Fury wasn’t a strong enough word to describe just how livid Kai looked. She was on her phone almost instantly. 

“What’s she doing?” Doughnut asked, leaning on the bartop in the now-quiet nightclub. 

“Blacklisting.” Grif answered, watching his sister. “She has every number of every club owner in this city. She’s going to end his local career, if not his reputation statewide.”

“And what reputation is he maintaining, again?” Doughnut asked, eyes wide. 

“He’s a DJ. A good one, too. But clubs won’t play him if he has a reputation for bringing drugs in. Where the party is, dealers follow. But if a club has a dealer on payroll, they're done. Felix doesn’t always deal, but he usually carries enough to try.” Church said, following Grif’s gaze. Kaikaina Grif was a force of nature, he had to admit. She could have been screaming, causing an uproar. But her voice was steady as she cut Felix’s knees out from under him. Church felt a swell of pride while watching her. She had come a long way in the years since Chorus. 

“We’ve got this, Church. Go home.” Grif said, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Carolina works in the morning, and Caboose doesn’t need to handle this alone. I’ll call if anything happens here.”

Church nodded, aching to get home to his little family. “Thanks, Dex.” He said, sliding out from behind the bar. “Make sure you update Wash, too. Tucker won’t talk to him, not about this. But he’s gonna need to know.” 

Grif’s eyes were sad, but he nodded. Church left without a goodbye. 

 

****

 

By the time Wash made it to the gym, Sarge and Simmons were already waiting outside. When Simmons had found the time to call Sarge, Wash would never know. Fucking kiss ass. 

“You two are so needy, jesus.” Wash muttered, pulling his keys out and letting them in. He locked the door behind them, for good measure. 

“Coming from the man who hasn’t been single for more than a week in the past three years? Wash, I expected better from you.” Sarge grumbled. 

“Easy for you to say, you old coot. You’ve got Grey. Happily married for six years, remember? Not all of us have nice partners who, like,  _ love _ us or whatever dumb bullshit Hallmark is selling now.”

“Spoken like a true lonely man. Good to see that some things never change.” Sarge said, settling an arm around Wash’s shoulders. “Now are we wrestling or boxing today, boys?” 

“Boxing. This needs to be bloody.”Simmons answered. He looked ready to fight the world. Even Wash could see the raw energy buzzing under his skin. “I’ll dial back the cybernetics. Human strength. I want this to hurt.” 

Sarge sighed, knowing better than to argue. How he took this part of Simmons in such graceful strides, Wash would never know. He motioned for Wash to follow them both into the ring, where Simmons was already slipping into a pair of gloves. Sarge looked ready for war as he tapped his knuckles. This was going to get messy. 

 

****

 

Kai texted Wash, who texted North, who texted South. How her identical twin ever thought texting her at 3 a.m. was a good idea, she’d never know. But the content of the text had her upright and ready for battle in half of a heartbeat. Fucking Felix. She gritted her teeth and kicked off the covers as she scrambled for Kai’s number in her contacts. 

“Grif speaking. Go.” Kai answered, cold and automatic. 

“Kai, it’s South. North texted. I-” She took a deep breath in. “Let me know what I can do. I know I left that part of my life behind, but you guys at Blood Gulch are family. I stayed at Chorus because I wanted quiet. But not...not like this.”

Kai sighed. “We all want quiet, South. But Felix is starting a war. He knew that when he-”

“I know.” South interrupted, anxious. “I’m offering my...services. I know my brother doesn’t like it. I know he thinks I can’t go back into that space without never coming back. But if you need someone on the inside, someone who can gather whatever evidence you need to finally nail Felix for dealing, or whatever you’re planning, I’m in.”

“I can’t ask that of you.”

“You’re not asking, Kaikaina. I’m offering. Tucker held me through my recovery. The least I can do is offer him some security in his.” 

There was a beat of silence. South wondered, frantically, is she had overstepped. Maybe she should have just called North, asked him to pass this on. But she had wanted, had needed, Kai to know. Needed everyone at Blood Gulch to know. They had survived this storm once, they could do it again. 

“If it comes to that, South, just know that I’d be there. Every second, every step. I won't send you back to him alone. Not again.” Kai’s voice was soft, so tired she sounded threadbare. 

“I know.”

 

****

 

Tucker knew, deep down, that Junior already knew that he was the one who had cost him his legs. A kid that smart didn’t grow up in a home like his without learning all of his father’s secrets. And Tucker found himself weirdly grateful. Junior could grow up knowing, could grow up seeing his father for what he was. He would never be his idol. But Tucker could haul ass every day to make sure that kid knew he had a dad who would fight like hell for him. 

He didn’t like to think back on his addiction. Didn’t want to dedicate any more energy than he already had to Felix, to Locus. Some good had come from those days. He had met South, and through her he had met Kai, had met Grif, had met Church and Caboose. And they welcomed him in. Made him feel safe. Gave him and his kid a home, a life, a fucking foothold. He would always be an addict. But he didn’t have to be addicted. 

That part of his life was hazy. Felix kept his people constantly high, kept them wanting more and more until he was the only one who could afford what they needed. Sink them so deep into their addiction that he was their only lifeline. Tucker, South, Locus. Tucker got out when he realized, a month too late, that he was pregnant. He dragged South out with him, literally by her hair. They had shuddered through recovery together, withdrawn in Grif and Kai’s shitty one bedroom apartment. How Tucker hadn’t lost either South or Junior, he’d never know. They were sixteen. Babies having babies. How Grif had fed all four of them. How he had just welcomed two recovering druggies into his apartment. How Kai had just  _ loved _ them. 

Felix had come looking for them. He didn’t take well to disrespect. Wouldn’t accept anything but blind submission and total addiction. He wanted a harem of people that he could use and dispose of. But North had shown up, all fake bravado and loud threats. Grif had blocked the door, a wall Felix wouldn’t try to move past. They had saved him, saved Junior. 

Tucker knew a few others, all of which had skipped town, who got out. There was an obituary in the paper, linked to an O.D. case. No one wanted to admit it, but they knew it was Felix, even if he wasn’t the one holding the syringe. South had done some digging. Whichever god existed, if any, was kind. Locus was the last person Felix could both catch and hold on to. Which made it that much harder to pry him away. 

Eight years. Tucker knew that Locus had been sober for at least the past three. Knew because he called on the night of his 21st birthday and listened to Tucker’s breathing in the middle of the night. 

_ “You’re sober. Tap twice for yes, once for no.” Two tapps rang through Tucker’s headphones.  _

_ “He’s tried to slip you something.” Two tapps.  _

_ “You want out.” Two tapps.  _

_ “You trust me to get you out.” Two tapps.  _

Tucker had decided, that night. Felix was going to lose. Was going to watch his whole world burn. And Tucker was going to be the one holding the matches. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll make a happier chapter next time around I promise.


	5. Sleep (a digression)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a v short little snippet bc a) I love churboose and b) the friend im writing this fic for is sick and deserves love.  
> I'd say this is teen, but it might be mature. Imminent blowjobs. Is that a rating? Because that's what this is.
> 
> Also, chapters with (a digression) in their title are short, fluffy or smutty tidbits that are meant to either a)give me a break from heavier writing, or b) to allow for little glimpses into the characters less traumatic lives. they're not relevant to the plot, but are, i think, still part of the story. But if you dont like the pairing featured or dont have the time, they are not important things to read.

Church had forgotten just how  _ good _ it felt to be with Caboose. With how crazy his life could be, Caboose was the most grounding thing he had ever been around. He was a weird dude, for sure, but Church needed that. He soothed Churches...everything. Having him in his arms, knowing they were both safe and sound in their apartment, relaxed him in a way that was disproportionately powerful. He was about to drift off, finally calm enough after the entire club went into a panic over Felix, when movement woke him again. 

“Church.” Caboose said, shifting around in Church’s arms to face him. “You did not kiss me when you got home.” His blue eyes looked a little sad, a fake pout on his lips. 

Church found himself chuckling, breathing deeply to wake himself up enough to speak. “You’re right, I didn’t. How dare I forget that.” He leaned forward, slipping a hand over Caboose’s hip and up to his waist. A hand on his chest stilled him. Pulling back, he scrambled to read Caboose’s face. The hand followed, pressing him until he was laying flat on his back, Caboose lying half way over his body. Caboose had at least six inches on him in height, and far outweighed him. 

Not for the first time, Church was left slightly squashed under his partner, waiting for him to decide which move to take next. If he had had more energy, he would have wrestled around with Caboose until they were both either exhausted or hard. But he couldn’t be bothered. Sleep still pushed at the edges of his vision, for all that he could feel the static of arousal under his skin. He was content to just let Caboose have his way with him, his control issues be damned. 

“I was very worried tonight.” Caboose said, barely a whisper. 

Church cracked open one eye. “Me too, Mike. I know Felix isn’t brash enough to show up here, but after everything, after Tucker, I was so scared I wouldn’t have anything to come back to.” The vulnerability of the confession left him feeling bare, so he closed his eyes again. 

“You will always have me to come back to, Church.” Caboose said, reverence lacing his voice. Church almost replied, but Caboose chose that moment to lead forward, pressing wet kisses down his throat. He found his fingers tangling in Caboose’s loose blond curls, not so much pulling as just  _ holding _ . Church was so far gone with this, with Caboose, with the fucking night he had had. He trusted Caboose, needed him,  _ wanted _ him. There wasn’t a breath he took that he would keep from him. 

“Baby, I’m gonna fall asleep if you don’t hurry this up.” Church said, hardly audible.

“I do not mind if you go to sleep, Church. That just means you can dream good dreams about me. And blowjobs. Blowjob dreams are my favorite dreams.” He replied, pausing to watch Churches face. “Do you want me to stop, Church?” To give himself leverage for better eye contact, Caboose pressed a hand on Church’s hip, arching his back off of the mattress. 

“God, fuck, no. I just...I don’t want you to think...you don’t have to.” Church wasn’t breathing. His boyfriend wasn’t fucking real. Jesus. He was too tired to disentangle whatever it was he was trying to say from his sleep addled brain. 

Caboose’s slow smile was Church’s new religion. 

“That is okay. I would like to very much. Good night, Church.” With that, Caboose slipped under the covers on their bed. Church moaned softly, one arm thrown over his eyes, the other following Caboose down, down, down. And he was gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 u kayla


	6. Ease of Loving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * So this chapter is starting with the disclaimer that I'm a trans guy, and I have very little understanding of the steps involved with MtF transitions, which is why the trans female character in this chapter is mostly hinted at. If I say something wrong, or anyone has certain things they don't want mentioned, you can message me or leave me a comment :)

Wash had left Chorus once it had found its footing to open Freelancer. He loved his gym. The awful smells. His little apartment on the second floor. The hyper masculine dudes who pretended they could actually lift. The hot men who could  _ actually _ lift. That’s how he had met York. 

Looking back, York was one of Wash’s worst mistakes. Jesus. That relationship had been such a mess. Wash was serially monogamous, but he had let York convince him that they could be open. Wash had been miserable for eight months before he finally ended it. Maine had come along a week later. After a long and slightly miserable month, Wash had ended that, too. 

Why could he not just find one nice guy? Maybe with dreads and pretty brown eyes. And who had seen him through the last six years of his life without flinching back as his fucked up backstory came to light. Where was that guy? 

Wash knew, realistically, that that guy was Tucker. But he couldn’t just show up on Tucker’s doorstep and proclaim his undying love for him. He had watched him cycle through so many fucked up relationships. He wouldn’t want anything to do with Wash’s hopeless love life. And what if Tucker only went out with him because of Junior’s prosthetics? What if he thought that Wash would use that as a way to guilt him into dating him? And could Wash really handle having a kid? Junior was amazing. Smart, witty, Tucker’s spitting image. But Wash couldn’t just walk into that kid's life like that. Granted, he had been in his life almost daily since he was two, but still. And what if Tucker thought he was kidding? He had heard him make fun of his own body enough to know he thought he wasn’t worth the effort of loving. What if Tucker took one long look at Wash’s history with men and decided he was screwing with him? He’d lose him. 

His phone rang in his pocket, jerking him out of the spiral he was following. 

“Washington.” He answered, getting up to close the door to his office. 

“Hey Wash, it’s Kai.” Wash blinked. Kai, for all that they were close, wasn’t someone he would expect a call from. 

“What’s wrong?” He expected indignance. Kai just sighed.

“I know this isn’t on you, but you probably have a right to know. Felix is going after Tucker again. Dex and I are done with his shit. We’re gonna try and get him busted for dealing, see if we can’t get him incarcerated or some shit. I just-” She paused. “I know you care about Tucker. I didn’t want this to be something you found out through the grapevine.”

Wash was quiet for a moment, considering. “I want in on this, Kai. Whatever you guys need. I know South well enough to know that she volunteered herself as the one to dive back into Felix’s world. If she needs a rescue, or a place to crash where Felix can’t get to her, call me.”

“David Washington, are you playing hero?” Kai asked. She sounded exhausted. 

“No, that’s your job, kid. But I’m your safety net, if you need one, okay? Don’t forget that.”

“I get what Tucker sees in you.” Kai laughed. “I’ve gotta go, South just walked in. Later?”

“Yeah, yeah. Tell Tucker you called me when you see him next, okay? I don’t want him to not know that I know. He doesn’t need to feel like we’re going behind his back on this one. Not right now.”

“He already knows Wash. I think he’s waiting for you to call. Go see your boyfriend, you nerd.” And with that, the line went dead. 

 

****

 

“Go see your boyfriend, you nerd.” Kai said, and hung up her phone. She set in on the bar, and rested her head in her hands. She had made so many phone calls that she was pretty sure her ears would fall off if she tried to make another.  She had made sure to call South over to Chorus before she had reached that point though. 

“Hey.” South said, resting her chin in her hands, facing Kai. Her blonde hair was down, pin straight and a little frizzy. She looked like she had just rolled out of bed. 

Kai peeked out through her fingers, a small smile on her face. “Hi. I’m sorry I called you here. I just thought, with everything that's happening, you might want to actually get the full story.” 

South nodded. “Yeah. North is an excellent messenger. But it still seems like a good idea to check in. What happened?” 

Kai recounted the story, feeling herself get more and more worked up as she continued. 

“I called every club owner in town. They all agreed, he doesn’t set foot in their clubs. No one is willing to risk getting caught with whatever new shit he’s found. I told them all to direct him to me, once he figures out he’s been blacklisted. I want him to know that we’re the ones doing this. I want him afraid.”

South cocked her head to the side, blue eyes contemplative. “I’m so in love with you.” She said. Simple. Easy. Like she was telling Kai she was going outside for a smoke. “I know this is a bad time. You don’t have to say anything to that. But you should know, as we go into this, that I’m doing this just as much for you as I am for Tucker, for Junior. I don’t want Felix anywhere near you, Kaikaina. And I’m going to make damn sure he isn’t.” 

Kai found herself leaping over the counter, incredibly ungracefully, and into South’s lap. By the time that she had coordinated herself enough to grab South’s face and kiss her, they were both laughing in a heap on the floor. South was the one to sit them up, one hand on Kai’s jaw to keep from breaking their kiss. She kept biting at Kai’s bottom lip, half intentional and half because she was grinning. Kai felt a laugh bubble in the back of her throat. Somehow they scrambled up from the floor, and with precision that sent tingles down Kai’s spine, South lifted her onto the bar top. 

“There, now you’re not so short.” South chuckled, leaning back into Kai’s space. 

“I’m 5’11”!” 

“And I’m 6’3”. Short, babe. Tiny.” She slid between Kai spread thighs, settling her hands over her hips, thumbs skimming over the exposed skin between Kai’s shirt and jeans. 

Kai was done chatting. She had waited eight years for this. Shifting forwards, she pressed her body against South’s, pressing their lips together once before kissing down the length of South’s neck, reveling in the softness of skin and the sweet noise South made when she bit down on her pulse. 

South’s hand tangled in her mass of curls, pulling away until she could meet her eyes. Insecurity clouded the previously laughter filled expression on South’s face. Kai didn’t push into the distance South had created. 

“I know you know, Kai. But you  _ know _ , right? Because if you think you’re okay with it, and you’re not, I’m not...I can’t…” 

Kai smiled, soft. “I was there when me and Grif approved your two months off for recovery, South. Grif volunteered to be your legal guardian at twenty-one so you could have access to hormones. And that was years ago now. We don’t get all of the choices we should in this life, South. But I can choose this. I can choose you.” 

South shook her head. “Why are you this amazing?”

“I have to be. I have an amazing girlfriend to keep up with, now. And her legs are  _ so much _ longer than mine.” 

  
  


****

 

Tucker felt clammy, dirty, and tired. Junior was at school, thank god. That poor kid needed a day of normal after the weekend they had had. Tucker was getting ready to nap, to just sleep and sleep and sleep until he couldn’t form words anymore. But then his phone rang. Wash’s stupid contact photo, a picture of him and Junior at an amusement park, Junior sitting on top of his shoulders and victoriously holding a foam bat in the air, popped up on his screen. 

“Hey, Wash.” He said, turning his phone on speaker as he made his way to the kitchen. “Kai called you.”

“Yeah. Can I come over? I wanna see you.” Wash was quiet. He must be at the gym. 

“Coffee’s already running, man. You can let yourself in when you get here, I’m gonna grab a shower.” 

“Okay. I’ll see you in twenty.” 

“Wash.” Tucker was moving towards the bathroom. “Stay on the phone with me?” The silence that followed stretched on for so long that Tucker began to wonder if Wash had hung up. 

“Yeah, buddy. Yeah.”

“Cool. Imma grab my shower now.” Tucker said, turning on the shower. He knew it was stupid, he couldn’t even talk to Wash over the sound of the water. But the small comfort kept him moving. He could distantly hear the dinging of Wash’s car open car door, and his shitty rock music as he started his car. 

“I heard from Tex the other day. And I know you can’t answer me because you’re, you know, showering. But it was so weird. She came into Freelancer for a couple of hours, even asked me about Church. I told her to go fuck herself, that he’s with Caboose. She seemed sort of pissed. Also, hey, I might need your help with something. You know that guy I brought with me the other night? He and Grif need to fuck. That sounds weird. But you know what I mean. Simmons, my friend, is so into Grif. And Grif can’t fucking stand him. But he’d listen to you if you told him to give him a chance. Grif deserves something good, you know? Him and Kai both. Speaking of Kai, she and South have got to happen. Probably are already happening. I don’t know. Is it weird that I’m this invested in our friends relationships? Probably. I’m gonna put you on mute while I grab us some food. Five minutes.” 

The bathroom felt very still without Wash’s voice echoing through. Tucker had forgotten just how soothing Wash was when he felt so off kilter. He finished showering before Wash come back to his phone, and was trying to wrestle his hair into something that might resemble not-bedhead when he took it off of mute. 

“Hey, sorry. Stopped by Chorus to pick up our lunch and I found Kai and South pretty much fucking on the bar. So that’s a mental image I’ll never get rid of. Yous till there?”

“Yeah, sorry. Hair.” Tucker answered, glaring at his hair in the mirror and resigning himself to another topknot. “Do you need therapy? I’ve seen Kai’s ass before. I don’t think I’ll ever recover.”

“Possibly.” Wash chuckled. “Also, I’m outside. Gonna hang up so I don’t drop anything while getting the door open. See you in a sec.”

“‘K.” Tucker said, clicking his phone off. He stepped back, taking his mirror image in. Messy hair, but clean clothes. The sweatshirt he was wearing was probably churches, since Tucker wasn’t fond of grey or yellow. Seriously, who decided that a yellow stripe down the sleeve of a perfectly comfy hoodie was a good idea? 

He heard the front door open, and left the bathroom to help Wash bring in the food. 

“Dude, did you make this?” He asked as he fished the takeaway containers out of their paper bags. 

“No, Bitters. Grif is actually teaching him something, it seems.” Wash answered, chuckling. 

“Shocking. Who knew a dish bitch could actually survive a professional kitchen.” 

“Grif did it. I think that’s why he likes that kid so much. Although he really is just such an asshole.”

“You’re telling me. I spent a night at Chorus to cover for Palomo last week. I almost killed him.” 

Wash was smiling, leaning on the counter as he grabbed two glasses of water. He turned and motioned towards the couch, carrying the glasses and his container of food. He settled in, reaching out to pull Tucker down next to him, tucking him against his side. 

Tucker knew he should be hesitant to get so close. But he and Wash had walked that line for so long, pulling back was pointless. So he let himself enjoy the closeness, ignoring the guilt niggling at the back of his mind. 

“Do you wanna talk about what happened?” Wash asked, mouth half full and eyes on the T.V. as he worked to turn on Netflix. 

Tucker weighed his options. “Sure. Do you have any questions? You know the jist of it, I’m assuming.” Tucker could all but hear Wash thinking. 

“Why now?”

“Locus is sober, has been for a while now. I think Felix is piecing together that he wants out, and that he’s looking for help.”

“Why you?”

“Because I wanted to leave him. I got knocked up because he got careless. He wanted me to get rid of Junior, tried to o.d. me so I would lose him. It’s been eight years, he still hasn’t forgotten that.”

“Do you want to go back?” Wash had settled on ‘The Office’, but had the volume so low that Tucker had to use the subtitles to follow along. 

“Yes and no. I don’t know how many more years it’ll take for me to not be tempted with the thought of being able to get high. And he’s how I got testosterone until I got out. He’s how I started them. But going back to that point, giving up my life right now, I wouldn’t survive that.”

“What can I do to help?”

“This. Nothing, if you don’t want to. I know this is a lot to carry. And it’s not really yours to carry in the first place.” Tucker muttered the last sentence, taking a bite of his food. 

“Doesn’t mean I hate being here.”

“Fair. But why would you be here if you didn’t have to be?”

Wash went stiff beside him. “Maybe because I fucking care about you.” His tone was startlingly angry. 

“Maybe. Or maybe because you feel bad. Or because you’ve been sent by Kai to make sure I keep functioning.” Tucker knew he was being self pitying, egging Wash on. It wouldn’t fix anything, wouldn’t help. But wash being angry at him made him feel less guilty about him being there. 

Wash’s face was unreadable aside from the angry glint in his eyes. He leaned forward, setting his food on the coffee table and grabbing a napkin, wiping his hands and mouth. His body looked like the sea before a storm, still as glass and just as easily shattered. Tucker felt uncertainty creeping into the back of his throat. Maybe he had made a mistake having Wash over. Before he could put any more thought into it, Wash was lifting him onto his laps, arranging him so he was straddling his hips. His hands came up to Tucker’s jaw, a silent question in his eyes. 

“I’m here because I want to be. I’m here because the man I’ve been in love with for years needs to be taken care of, and I’m here because I want to take care of him. I’m here, and I’m terrified, and I’m praying to whatever god exists that you want this too, Tucker, because I will never leave you, but I can’t keep living my life like I’m not desperately in fucking love with you, you asshole.” Wash’s grip on his jaw was strong, comforting in a way Tucker wasn’t used to having directed at him. He knew he’d never have the words to match what Wash had just said, could never be that honest. 

Tucker leaned into Wash’s touch, letting his eyes drift closed as he rested their foreheads together. 

“I want this, you, so bad, Wash. Always.”

The storm broke, the temporary peace demolished as Wash used his grip on Tucker’s jaw to draw him in, flipping them on the couch so he could have Tucker underneath him, pressing him into the couch. 

Tucker found himself pulling away after a moment, a smile on his lips. 

“My turn.” He breathed as Wash kissed down his neck and pulled at the collar of the hoodie. “Why me?”

“Because,” Wash’s hand slipped under his sweatshirt, humming into his skin when he found that he was shirtless aside from his sweater. “You’re an amazing father,” he bit at Tucker’s ear, “amazing friend,” at his neck, “your body makes me want to fucking die,” both hands found their way under the soft fabric of Tucker’s sweatshirt, cradling his ribcage. He stopped, looking up from his place on Tucker’s clothed chest, and tugged on his shirt. At his small nod, Wash slipped his sweatshirt up and over his arms, leaving Tucker somewhat tangled as he pulled back, running his hands over every inch of visible skin. He slipped his own shirt off before pressing himself along the line of Tucker’s body, grinding his hips down in the process, pressing his mouth to Tucker’s ear and whispering, “Without you, Tucker, I wouldn’t even be here. And I’m going to worship you until your name is the only thing I know how to say.” 

“You can’t be fucking real.” Tucker said, he was cut off by Wash as he captured his mouth in another kiss. Tucker ran his hand down Wash’s side, feeling his muscles tense under his fingers. Wash pressed against Tucker’s mouth as he slid a hand into his sweats, pulling Wash’s hips tighter against him. 

“Eager?” Wash chuckled. 

“I’ve been waiting-god, you’re so unfair-for you to figure your shit out-stop that, I’m thinking-for six years.” Tucker said. Wash was laughing against his skin, pressing smiling kisses against his top surgery scars, running his hand into Tucker’s sweats and grabbing his ass. 

“You saying it wasn’t worth it?” Wash chuckled, looking up at Tucker’s face as he slid a hand into the front of his sweats, grabbing his crotch. Tucker closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the arm of the couch. 

“I’m not gonna be saying anything if you keep doing that.” Tucker breathed, hips stuttering up into Wash’s hand. “We need to get to my bed, dude. Caboose could come back literally any time now.”

Wash grimaced, stilling his hand against him. “Yeah, yeah. Okay.”

Wash stood, but before Tucker could follow he was lifted off of the couch. 

“I can walk, you know.” Tucker said, face tucked into Wash’s neck. 

“Not when I’m done with you, Lavernius.” Wash laughed, pressing a kiss to Tucker’s forehead as he kicked the bedroom door closed behind him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOOO! new chapter in spite of exams this week. fuck yeah. Also the Kai/South bit in this is dedicated to both my bro kayla and the super chill comment-er who made my night with their long comment who liked kai's characterization in this :)


	7. Royally Fucked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here. Have this.

Simmons couldn’t breathe. He felt like an entire world was on his chest, pressing him down and into his mattress. Groaning, he sat up in spite of the weight. He had to move, had to go to work, had to go see Sarge and Grey and Wash. Swinging his organic leg over the edge of bed, he dragged his cybernetic leg and arm towards him and connected them on autopilot. He looked down when he finished and realized that his leg was backwards. Perfect start to the day, honestly. Finally sorted, he dragged himself to the kitchen for a cup of black coffee. He wasn’t the sort to move far or fast without caffeine. 

The following shower was cold against his sleep-warmed skin, the clothes he slipped into so abrasive that he had to change. Giving up on looking like a brilliant engineer, he put on his oldest, softest sweats and a worn, deep red hoodie. His reflection looked small, his face pinched in anger. Having decided that enough was enough, he grabbed his work bag and left. The cool fall morning air was grounding, but not enough to snap him from his haze. Before he knew it, he was in his car. And without much thought at all, he was at his desk. His day passed in a blur of paperwork, prototypes, and interns who had no clue what they were doing. 

It was past six by the time he thought to look at the clock, and even then it was only because Jensen, his favorite intern, popped around the corner of his office door. 

“Sir,” She said in her lispy voice, “I’m gonna head home now. Charlie’s gonna start to wonder where I am. Do you need anything before I leave?”

“No, Jensen. I’ll walk out with you. I think we’ve both done enough for one day.” Simmons answered, standing from his desk. How long had be been there? 

“Right, okay, Sir. Did you get the prototype we sent up? Lopez and I have been working on it for a while now. We wanted your input before we start testing.” Jensen babbled as Simmons collected his things. He tried to recall which of the infinite prototypes she could be referring to. She saved him from the headache a moment later. 

“It’s called the New Republic, Sir. It’s a bit melodramatic, I think, but I got to pick which color of silicone we used, so he got to pick the name. Fair is fair, I guess.” Her ears were pink. “It’s the new gen, um, well-” She squared her shoulders, “It’s the new gen cybernetic phallus, Sir.” 

Simmons chuckled. “I remember it now, Katie.” He paused as he turned to ensure the electronic lock on the office engaged. And possibly to hide his blush. Why were women so hard to talk to? “The color was an...interesting choice.”

Jensen blushed scarlet. “I just thought, I don’t know. I understand that our goal is absolute undetectable integration. But what about the people who don’t  _ want _ absolute integration, you know? I had a boyfriend in college who was always so peeved that he couldn’t find a prosthetic that wasn’t flesh toned. I didn’t care much either way, but it bothered him sometimes.” She looked at Simmons’ face as the elevator they had taken reached the parking garage. “I realize now that I shouldn’t not have told that story.” She muttered. 

Simmons smiled at her. “I don’t mind hearing why you made the choice, Jensen. Better than no reason at all. And I’ve already approved it for testing. I trust you and Lopez to move this project in a good direction, even if this project is centered around a bright pink cybernetic dildo.” 

Jensen’s smile was wide and bright. “You won’t regret this Sir, I promise.”

“I trust that I won’t. You’re going to make an excellent head of engineering one day, Katie. I’ll see you tomorrow, have a nice night.” He raised his hand in salute as he slipped into his car, waiting to make sure she was safe inside her own and leaving the parking garage before even starting the engine. 

Instead of turning towards his apartment building as he left, he found himself turning towards Freelancer. Pulling into the parking lot, he saw Wash’s practical grey sedan with it’s stupid yellow side stripes, South’s sleek silver crossover, and a burnt Orange SUV. Normally he’d ignore the other cars in the lot, but given that they were the only one’s there, Simmon’s was curious. He’d gone toe to toe with South enough times to know that whoever was in there with her and Wash had to be packing a serious amount of muscle. Or stupidity. Or both. 

He briefly wondered if he should have called, since the gym looked all but closed from the outside. But Wash knew he usually worked out at night, and since Wash was an asshole, Simmons couldn’t really make himself care that his friend wasn’t smart enough to lock his door. He stopped at the locker rooms, changing out and dropping his mostly empty gym bag in a locker before heading to the main floor. 

As soon as Simmons reached the back of the gym, where the wrestling mats and boxing ring were located, he realized why it looked so empty. 

In the middle of the ring, South looked pissed. Her opponent had his back to Simmons, but it was clear he was formidable. He clearly outweighed her, and given how his muscles shifted under his skin, he also was far stronger than she would have assumed a somewhat chubby looking dude would be. She stood at least two inches taller than him, but her height, it became clear, was leaving her at a disadvantage. Her opponent moved forward again, and when they collided, they were both flat on the mat in a second. Wash raised his whistle to his mouth, ending their fight. 

Shaking his head, he caught sight of Simmons. He waved him over as he ushered South out of the ring. Her opponent went to follow, and suddenly stopped dead as he caught sight of Simmons’ face. 

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” He sighed, or rather huffed, as he pushed through the ropes. 

Wash looked between a suddenly pissed off Grif, and a shockingly steel-spined Simmons. 

“So now I’m not allowed back here, either?” Simmons challenged. The words were out of his mouth before he could catch them. God damn it. Wasn’t he supposed to be trying to make amends with this dude? 

Wash’s face pinched as he connected the dots between what must have happened at the club, and why they seemed to hate each other. “You know what? South, you’re gonna train with me for a while. You two-” he gestured between Grif and Simmons, “work out whatever this is. Because I’m neither your babysitter, nor am I all that invested in what you, Simmons did to piss off Grif. And Grif-” He said, shifting his attention as Grif pulled a snarled face at Simmons. “Don’t be an asshole, man.”

South smiled at them both, waving a goodbye to Simmons before slinging her arm over Wash’s shoulders and making her way towards the hanging punching bags on the far wall. Simmons slowly turned to face Grif, who, he now realized, was both physically gorgeous and outsized him by at least five inches. 

“Do you box?” He asked, looking up at Grif. 

“Yeah, sometimes. We could leave. I’m not going to force you to get in the ring with me. I’d hate for you to feel intimidated into making a mistake.” He sounded passive, but the cruel curl of his lips was anything but. 

“I don’t think I’m the one making a mistake here. But if you’re looking for a way to gracefully bow out, now’s your chance.” Simmons sneered, pulling his shoulders back. He knew he looked small, but he had been training with Wash for eight years, and had been in the military for four of those years. 

Grif took two long steps backwards, ducking back into the ring and motioning for Simmons to follow. He moved the hold the roped apart for him, but SImmons swung himself up and over, enjoying how Grif’s eyebrows jumped towards his hairline. He retrieved the tape Wash kept on the edge of the mat and started taping his hands, slipping a soft glove over the cold metal of his cybernetic arm. 

Grif was standing opposite him, shuffling his feet. 

“If you need help taping up, the offers there. I won’t fight you if you’re just going to break your fingers when you throw your first punch.” Simmons said, not looking up. Grif moved towards him begrudgingly, taking the tape that he offered. Simmons taped one knuckle for him, showing him how, and then set about fiddling with the controls on his arm. He wanted to play fair, even if playing fair might mean having his ass handed to him.

“You had better not be jacking up your robo strength, pal.” Grif said, giving him the side eye. 

“Please. I don’t need assistance from this to kick your ass. I’m adjusting its strength to match that of my left arm. You’ll leave this ring with all of your ribs unfractured so long as you don’t manage to break them yourself.” 

They finished almost instantaneously, realizing suddenly that they would have to count themselves in. Simmons wasn’t so traditional, not with boxing. Stepping towards the center of the ring, he fell into a defensive stance, raising his eyebrows at Grif. They moved together, almost, for a moment. Simmons moved first, into Grif’s space with precise intent, landing a solid hit on his ribs. Grif fell back a step, suprise on his face. Shaking his head, he advanced, pushing Simmons further into his own corner, using his size to all but block him in. He was gaining ground, but he couldn’t land a hit on Simmons. Anger flared in his eyes as he dodged under his swinging arm once again. 

“Did Wash mention,” Simmons panted, swinging out and striking Grif on the side, using his moment of recuperation to duck around him, switching their positions. “That I’m trained in hand-to-hand combat? Plus the ten years of boxing before I even joined up?” 

Grif looked like a bull in a china shop, all vivid anger and hulking movements. If Simmons had to guess, he’d say the guy was a wrestler. He looked ready to grab Simmons and fight him to the mat. Simmons’ smile was slow as he read his body language. 

“Come get me, asshole. You wanna hit me? Fucking hit me!” He spread his arms wide, leaving himself exposed completely for a brief moment. When Grif made a swaying step forward, Simmons dove completely into his space, landing a hit under his chin that sent him sprawling onto the mat. 

Grif was staring up at him. 

“You were military?” He asked, not sitting up. Simmons, sensing that he had no interest in continuing their fight, flopped onto the mat next to him, tucking his organic leg underneath himself. 

“Yup. How the fuck do you think I lost half of my face, an arm, and a leg? Jesus.”

“I figured you were one of those asshole who got all their shit replaced. You looked the part.” Grif’s ponytail had worked loose, and his thick dark curls were a mess around his head as he turned to look at Simmons. 

“No. I got hit by a tank. Like, literally. It ran right over me. I got a sick job out of it, so I try not to complain.” At Grif’s questioning glance, he continued. “I design prosthetics. The limbs I’m wearing now are actually some of my first pieces. My company, if it helps, doesn’t sell to cosmetic buyers.” 

Grif’s face scrunched up. 

“Mr. S?” He asked, sitting up.

Simmons had to think for a moment. He had a group of kids that Wash had helped him connect with, kids who needed cybernetics. “Yes?”

Grif laughed, head thrown back. He held out his hand, eyebrows raised. 

“Hi. I’m Dexter Grif. Club owner and asshole. And you are?” He asked, extending a hand. Simmons shook it. 

“Richard Simmons. Cybernetics engineer and shit conversationalist.”

“Wanna start over?”

“Hell yes.” 

Grif used the hand he had in Simmons’ to pull them, surprisingly languid now that he was no longer raging. 

“I’m sorry, really, for how I acted. I’m just...I’m very bad with people.” Simmons said, suddenly aware of just how close they really were. He took a step back.

“Dude, I feel that. I’ve been friends with Wash for years. I’m sorry too, for the record. I sort of assumed you were just a rich asshole who had too much time on his hands and wanted in Wash’s pants.”

Simmons bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. “I understand. But I’d murder him. Or he’d murder me. Really, after we survived basic together, it’s impossible to say which one of us is most like to experience a psychotic break.”

“Noted. Wanna go again? Maybe I won’t make as much of an ass of myself this time.” 

Simmons grinned. “Best out of three?”

“You’re on.”

 

****

 

Locus was growing tired of the anxiety sitting in his chest. He wanted to go home. Wanted to see Tucker. Wanted to apologize for not believing him when he said he had found somewhere they would be safe. That he knew, now, that he should have trusted Grif and Kai, escaped with him and South while they were still young enough to build lives. He wanted to start over. Wanted to stay sober. 

Felix hated his sobriety. He couldn’t prove that Locus wasn’t using, but he knew. He knew and he pushed, and pushed, and pushed. He wanted Locus to stay. He had always been so afraid of being alone, of not having anyone to use. He wanted control, but he couldn’t control himself. Controlling others was his only option, and he was as dependent on the drugs in that as he was in every other part of his life. 

He swore he didn’t deal, swore on his life to Locus that he was just good at what he did, made enough money to support them. But Locus had seen the dealers hanging around their too nice for their tax bracket apartment, heard as Felix took what he needed from them when they couldn’t move enough of his product. Whoever Felix was buying from was keeping him on a short leash. And people were growing suspicious, it seemed. It had only taken two days after Locus’s last call to Tucker for the calls to start coming in. Club owners and managers were canceling Felix’s shows, telling him that Kaikaina Grif had given him a pockmark, she was going to see him blacklisted. And every single one of them made it clear that they intended to support her in her cause. 

Dealer. 

Too risks of a word for any club owner to be willing to be associated with. Felix had carefully avoided the label for years, routing his drugs through street dealers who were both expendable and civilian. College kids with rent to pay, bartenders who were short on cash. Anyone and everyone who could be there, who he could ensure was turning a profit, whenever he played a show. 

Locus found himself more at peace as he thought on the topic. Kaikaina was closing in. Tucker, as he always had, was making good on his promise. Locus smiled. 

Felix’s time was up. 

 

****

 

Donut  _ loved _ his job. I mean, seriously. Who wouldn’t love being a cute waiter in a hot nightclub where every sub and their sub besties went to get fucked up  _ and _ get fucked on the weekends? Donut was  _ living _ . 

But the twins had complicated things. Frank was, without argument, the cutest thing donut had seen. And O’Mally? Amazing. Frank was such a perfect sub. Quiet, but mouthy enough to almost always be in trouble. Gave excellent head. What more could a guy ask for? O’Mally, without question, wanted him dead. He had tried to drop Donut off outside of an abandoned gas station while driving him home from a night (and day) at his and Frankie’s place. At almost midnight. Across the city from his own apartment. 

Frank looked up from where his head was resting on Donut’s chest. The bell on his collar tinkled as he shifted. 

“You look stressed.” He said, pressing a hand into Donut’s chest. “Did I do something wrong?”

Donut shushed him, pulling him back down to lay on him again. They had promised no actually sexy-times. Donut was a man who always delivered. Or didn’t deliver, in this case. But Frankie looking up at him with those big, blue eyes? Nope. A man has only so much stamina. 

“Never, baby. It’s just work, and other small things.”

“It’s not small if it worries you.” Came Frankie’s small reply, half muffled by the blanket he had over his chin. 

“It’s small if it doesn’t get either of us hurt, darling. Now go to sleep. You have an exam next week. And I will not have you exhausted by anything other than me.”

Donut felt Frankie press a kiss to his chest as he pulled the blanket over his head. Donut was so completely, royally, totally-not-funily, screwed. 

 

****

 

Grif was so royally fucked. Who thought him meeting Simmons was a good idea? Which fucking god of which fucking universe was responsible for the bullshit he was having to go through? Who? He wanted answers, he wanted them instantly, and he wanted David motherfucking Washington to stop laughing at him. 

“You know, less than a day ago you would be miserable right here with me, buddy.” Grif spat, glaring at Wash as they both cleaned up in the locker rooms. 

“Yup. But since I have both recently gotten laid and confessed my love to Tucker, you’re the only one of us doomed to die alone. So it’s fucking funny, dude.”

“He’s the biggest fucking asshole.”

“So are you. That’s honestly why I wanted you two to meet. That and he’s, like, disgustingly single. Not unlike yourself.”

“I really hate you sometimes, you realize that, right?”

“Grif, I fucking count on it. Also, South and your sister are definitely happening. I walked in on it literally happening at Chorus. And Donut has that little Franken-Doc thing happening. You’re the only one of us who is still tragically alone. I had to try something.”

“You couldn’t have tried something that’s, I don’t know, in my fucking league? Jesus. Since when have guys like that been interested in guys like me? Unless he has some weird fetish, I’m pretty sure he’s just here to beat me up and make me sexually frustrated.” Grif had finished dressing, and was shoving his things in his gym bag. 

“I thought we had dealt with that shit dude. If I wasn’t desperately in love with Tucker, I would have totally added you to my to-do list. Which is super weird. But it’s out there now, so whatever.” Wash was moving towards the door of the locker room, his back to Grif. “Besides. I’ve known Simmons for years. It’s not a fetish, trust me. He’s like, one of the last guys you need to worry about when it comes to that shit.”

“And why’s what?” Grif asked. As they left the gym, he felt his wet hair drip freezing water on his neck. Gross. 

Wash stuttered for a moment, eyes a little wide. “I shouldn’t have...Listen, his story isn’t mine to tell you, Grif. There’s shit there that he would and definitely could kick my ass for telling you. But if I know him at all, he’s interested. Ask him out to Blood Gulch on your night off this week. If he has someone’s attention in places like that, he’s a fucking holy terror. You’ll dig it.”

Grif sighed, unlocking his car and tossing his bag into the back seat. “Maybe, man. But I’ll probably just let it go. Maybe you and Tucker can brainstorm someone who might resemble a realistic option while you’re fucking canoodling and leaving me as the only single asshole in this god forsaken city.”

Wash’s face looked sad for a moment before he pushed the expression away. He grinned, a little forced. “Whatever, dude. Won’t know if you never try. And I’ll ask Tucker. Have a nice night.” Wash waved farewell and slipped into the driver’s seat of his car. 

Grif waved at his taillights as he stood outside his car and smoked. Kai would kill him if she thought he smoked more than socially. But goddamn, if he didn’t deserve a decent nicotine fix every once in awhile. And it wasn’t like he hadn’t been reamed out hard enough by that Simmons asshole when he had smelled smoke on Grif’s breath after he had him pinned to the mat for the fourth. Fucking. Time. (And who was going to judge Grif for needing a smoke after a hot guy had had him trapped down with his hips pressed to his ass? No one, that’s fucking who)

Recalling Simmons’ voice as he laughed, saying how kissing a smoker was like kissing an ashtray, Grif dropped his half-finished cigarette to the ground, grinding it out with his heel before tossing the butt in the trash. He was so. Royally. Fucked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter definitely is slightly more rushed along in plot than the others. I got a little stuck timeline-wise and needed to scooch things forwards. Grimmons is my 1 tru Luv so I used them to give myself a boost. The next chapter will probably be a digression, so if you have any pairing requests or suggestions, toss them my way. The digression chapters are short non plot snippets, which I will definitely need this week. So let me know which characters you want fluff/smut/just plain time with and I'll see what I can do. <3 U. Thanx 4 reading my dumb ass fic w it's weird notes at the end. This chapter isn't edited for typos yet but I wanna put it up so Im putting it up fite me and my bad grammatic typos. I'll just see myself out.


	8. Mornings (a digression)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I AM A VERY GAY MAN AND HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO WRITE LESBIANS SO IM SORRY IF THIS SUCKS???? I tried.
> 
> Also this chapter jumps v quickly from a nice family scene to something DEFINITELY not g-rated so just be aware that when the perspective switches it get very very gay.

Junior was sitting on the couch in the living room tying on his sneakers. His dad wasn’t up yet? Shouldn’t his dad be up? He promised he’d take him to go see his Grandma for the weekend. But he couldn’t take Junior anywhere if he wouldn’t get out of bed. He sighed, jumping up and down to make sure his socks wouldn’t bunch in his shoes. Nope. Good. Bunchy socks always made the movement of his feet way less movement-y. So awkward. 

“Daaaaaaaaaad.” Junior whined, moving towards his dad’s closed bedroom door. When he opened it, he came face to face with Washington. Wash looked funny, like he was trying really hard to not run away. Weirdo. Maybe he felt bad because he was in his jammies. “Hi Wash.”

Wash swallowed. “Hey, kid. I’m gonna just, um, I’m gonna…” He looked over his shoulder at Tucker, who had his face stuffed halfway under his blankets. 

“You wanna stay for breakfast? Did you and my dad finally do that thing that dad won’t ever tell me about?” Junior grinned his gap-toothed grin at Wash. 

Tucker finally sat up, pulling on a sweatshirt before squeezing around Wash and ushering Junior back towards the kitchen. 

“Why don’t you get dressed, Wash. Me and Tucker Two here are gonna fix some breakfast.” He was smiling, laughter in his voice. Once he had Junior securely into the kitchen, he rested his head in his hands. “Kiddo, we gotta talk.”

“Are you and David dating?” Junior asked, eyes wide. His dad and Wash were always together. He had accidentally called Wash dad once, when he was a little little kid. So embarrassing. 

“I, um-” Tucker sighed, starting on breakfast while Junior scrambled up onto one of their island chairs. “I’m not sure, kid. I hope so. Things might be a little weird for a while, okay? That’s part of why you’re staying with Grandma over break.”

“Is it because of that thing that scared Caboose so much the other day? When Fluffy had to sleep with me?” Junior asked, swinging his legs. He liked the sound the metal made when it pinged against the metal chair legs.

“Yeah, kiddo, it is. I know you know that, well, before I had you, my life was pretty not-great. The guy who made it so not-great is back, and he wants to make our lives bad again. I’m not gonna let him, but I need you to trust that we’re gonna be good, after this.” Tucker had stopped working, and was leaning on the counter across from Junior. 

“Is Wash gonna be okay too? I like him a lot.”

A hand came to rest on Junior’s shoulder, and a moment later Wash dropped a kiss on top of his head. “I’m gonna be just fine, Junebug. We’re all gonna be.”

Junior looked between them, his eyes wide. He trusted his dad. He trusted Wash. And he got to spend a week playing video games and watching T.V. and eating junk food. 

“Okey dokey. Can we go soon? I wanna nap on the way there.” He finally said.

“Yeah, kid. Eat a bowl of cereal and brush your teeth while I pack your bag, okay?” Tucker said, leaving Wash in the kitchen with Junior while he hustled to get things ready. Wash looked awkward. He was leaning against the counter as far away from Junior as possible. 

“I like that you’re dating my dad.” He said around a mouthful of food. “You’re a nice man. My dad says my other dad isn’t a nice man.”

“I try to be, June.” Wash answered. He moved closer to Junior. “I wanna be with your dad for a very long time. For always, if he’s okay with that. Are you okay with that?”

Junior nodded. “If you wanna live here, we’re gonna need a bigger apartment. Or a smaller Caboose.”

Wash laughed. He always laughed when Junior was funny. That’s why he always seemed so nice. Even if he tripped on his prosthetics, Wash never laughed at him. He only laughed when Junior was trying to make him laugh. 

Maybe he could be Junior’s new other-dad.

 

****

 

Kai was so ready for her life to be anything other than a ball of stress rolling down a mountain made of stress into a lake filled with stress. God fucking damn. At least she got to sleep that night? Sure. That could be a positive. The bed she was in was  _ way _ softer than her bed. Whose bed was she in? Wait. She breathed deep. Not Grif’s. She felt relaxed, quieted in a way she hadn’t in forever. And she didn’t make a habit of falling asleep at the houses of hook ups. A kiss to her shoulder blade stilled her as a hand skimmed up her side. Kai hummed at the contact. 

South pressed a kiss behind her ear, curling into Kai’s side before settling back into the bed. 

“You even think at high volumes, Kk.” She whispered, her fingertips running up and down Kai’s clothed back. 

“I make no excuses.” Kai answered back, turning so one eyes was peeking above her pillow and able to see South. Her steele blonde hair and blue eyes were glowing softly in the pale morning light.

“I wouldn’t want you to. I don’t know what I would do if you weren’t exactly as you are.” South said, pressing kisses along Kai’s newly exposed face. 

“You are such a sap, god. How are you even a real person.”

South nipped at her ear for that, but Kai could feel her smile pressed into her skin. 

“We should get up soon.” South said, reaching over Kai to grab her phone from the nightstand. “But it is only like 8. So we could definitely stay here for a while, too.”

Kai snuggled deeper into the pillow under her head, throwing both arms over top of her curls to hide any trace of light. South smiled. What had she done to get this damn lucky? Real people didn’t look like Kai did on her sheets. Her smooth, tanned skin. Her mass of unruly curls. The arch of her spine as she stressed to escape any of the sunlight streaming through the windows. South took one look and wanted to  _ devour _ , but as soon as she touched Kai, the urge was stilled, calmed. She wanted to give and give and give until they were both breathless with it. 

Smiling, South began to kiss down Kai’s back, tugging her girlfriends hips until she rolled over, arms flung over her eyes. She looked almost asleep, but as South ran her knuckles along the inside of Kai’s bare thighs, her breath huffed. South pulled herself back up the bed, pressing herself between Kai’s spread thighs. She made a noise that South could only translate as ‘ _ unfair _ ’, and brought an arm around South’s hips, pulling her tighter against her. She tried arching up into the touch, but South wrapped a hand around her hips and pushed her back into the bed. She didn’t want control, not of this. But she had plans that did not involve grinding together like teenagers. Although that was a viable option for another day. 

She worked her way down Kai’s body, soft and slow. Kai’s indignant noises at not being able to move against South’s bodies were the closest thing South had ever come to feeling like she might just be hearing god. No one real was like this. No real human being was actually so soft and sweet and able to soothe South’s ever-present temper. 

South reached the v of Kai’s hips, nipping along the skin between thigh and groin. Kai was arched underneath her, in spite of South’s hand pressing down on the center of her chest. She still had one arm thrown over her eyes, which means that when South pressed a soft kiss to her clit, she made a terrible, beautifully indignant noise. 

“For the sake of all unholy fuck, stop teasing me. I wanna die, babe.” Kai whined, finally peeking out from under her arm. She reached down and laced her fingers through South’s hair, scratching at her scalp. She never tried to move South’s head, just waited, holding tight to the only part of her she could reach. 

The first press of South’s mouth against her left Kai sagging into the mattress, the tension in her body easing as she found an easy rhythm against her tongue. South grabbed both of her thighs, pulling her further down the mattress and forcing her to stop grinding her hips up. 

“Please, baby. We gotta get up soon and I can’t-” Kai used her grip on South’s hair to meet her eyes. “I can’t just walk around all day aching for you to touch me again.”

South smiled, pressing chaste kisses to the inside of her thighs. She could stay where she was all day, pressing her girlfriend into the mattress until she couldn’t breathe. But she had an hour before she had to be up and ready for work. 

South pressed one last smiling kiss to Kai’s thigh before moving back down, giving into Kai’s soft begging. 

She was an hour late for work. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dont have an excuse for this chapter its just what it is so enjoy, i guess? Also this is again unread for typos bc im LAZY and dont WANNA and therefore do not. suck it.


	9. Batten Down the Hatches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ***I’m putting this warning here bc I know not everyone reads notes, and there is a non consensual and unsolicited sexual situation in this chapter. It is not graphic, but caution is advised. It is in the first section, so if you want to skip it just jump to the next set of four asterisks. Read at your own discretion.***

*****I’m putting this warning here bc I know not everyone reads notes, and there is a non consensual and unsolicited sexual situation in this chapter. It is not graphic, but caution is advised. It is in the first section, so if you want to skip it just jump to the next set of four asterisks. Read at your own discretion.*****

 

*****I’m putting this warning here bc I know not everyone reads notes, and there is a non consensual and unsolicited sexual situation in this chapter. It is not graphic, but caution is advised. It is in the first section, so if you want to skip it just jump to the next set of four asterisks. Read at your own discretion.*****

*****

*****

*****

Felix wasn’t used to things being so...out of control. He had grown accustomed to his life being perfectly balanced, perfectly maintained to his liking. Locus was perfectly submissive when he was high. But he was going sober, getting clean. He wanted to get away from Felix, was trying to get his shit together. Who the fuck gave him the right? He needed Felix. They’d been together for eight. Fucking. Years. Who was he to try and just leave Felix like he didn’t fucking need the drugs he gave him? Like he didn’t need Felix to fucking survive? He’d be on the streets if it wasn’t for him. 

Laying in bed next to him, Felix felt fury rise up in his blood. His peaceful breathing only served to rile him up more. 

“Locus.” Felix said, smacking him on the back of the head. Locus woke up swinging, pushing himself as far from Felix as he could get. Felix chased his retreating form across the mattress, placing his weight on top of him and holding him there. His face was still sleepy, his eyes clearly blurry. Felix grinned, wicked and sharp. He could Locus’s rapid heartbeat against his chest as he scrambled to catch up with where he was. 

“Felix…” Locus started, reaching to push against his shoulder. His voice was thick with sleep. 

Felix reached out and pinned his arm above his head, forcing his back to arch against the bed. Finally, Locus seemed to be waking up enough to know what was happening. He started kicking out at Felix’s ankles, teeth gritted. 

“Felix, this isn’t funny. Wanna sleep.” He tried to sound pouty, pressing his face against Felix’s neck. 

“You’re gonna, once I’m done. You look so good, baby. Don’t you wanna fuck me? Feel me? Come apart with me?” Felix purred into his throat. Locus stilled, his body going limp. 

“Can I sleep in my room if I do?” He asked, voice suddenly distant and cold. 

“Of course, baby. You can always sleep there, you know that. I just wanna be with you. You’re mine, remember? I like when you’re close.” Felix slid his hand over his face, grabbing his chin harshly and clacking their teeth together so hard it hurt. Good. 

He lifted himself off of Locus, propping himself up on their bed on his hands and knees. He could hear Locus shifting behind him, rising to his knees behind him. If he strained his ears, he could distantly hear him stroking himself. 

“Am I not enough to get you hard, baby? You have to take care of yourself?” He teased, wiggling back against him. Locus grunted, and continued in his perfunctory way of dealing with Felix. 

Felix could feel his temper flare again. Who was Locus to reject him like this? To act like fucking him was a chore instead of a fucking privilege? 

“You know what?” Felix spat, rising to his knees and turning to face Locus. “I’m not fucking doing this.” He pushed himself into Locus’s space, reveling in how he fell backwards into the mattress, head cracking against the wall. “Get the fuck out. Get the fuck out. Send in fucking, I don’t know, anyone who can fucking get hard. God fucking damn. All I asked was that you fuck me, baby.” Felix leaned down, his voice suddenly soft and apologetic instead of it’s venomous tone from the moment before. “I just wanna be with you, baby. I don’t wanna make you do anything you don’t wanna. So go on and go to bed. I’ll have someone else take care of me tonight.” 

He slid off of him, letting Locus leave the bed. He quickly pulled his boxers back on, pressing a kiss to Felix’s chest before getting up and leaving the room. A minute later, some kid he had picked up in a club the week prior came in. He looked fucked up, twitchy and overexcited., Felix held out his hand, and the kid dropping his stash in. 

Once he was so high he couldn’t feel his tongue, Felix let the kid fuck him into the bed, all weak thrusts and shitty porn star noises. Once the kid finished, he left Felix on the bed on exactly the position he had fucked him in, leaving him hard and empty. Locus appeared in the doorway. 

“What did we learn?” He asked, walking to Felix and pushing him until he fell to his back. He couldn’t answer, but as Locus finished him off with his hand, Felix grasped at his body, clutching him close. 

“Want you.” He panted, once his voice returned to him. “Just you.”

Locus smiled at him, wiping his hand on Felix’s sheets before returning to the door, clearly intent on leaving for good. 

“Just me.”

 

****

 

Most days, Sarge was too much for Simmons. His old C.O. was brusk, loud, and overexcited about every god damned thing that happened at GreyTech. Including, it seemed, sparkly pink prosthetic dicks. 

“Now Simmons,” Sarge started up, wielding the dildo like a fucking batton. “If this had been around when I was a young man, I would have a very different story. I wouldn’t have ever joined the army, no sirree, because I can almost guarantee you I could have, and would have, bedded my entire home town! And whose to say I still couldn’t? Why I might just-”

“SARGE!” Grey shouted, laughing. “You will do no such thing. Although if our dear Dickie boy is looking for test subjects, I’m sure we could find it in our hearts to help him push this through the prototypical stages. He is, after all, just such a nice man. I mean, who could be mean if they okay designs like this? I mean, you can even stroke it to full hardness! Now that’s a hard task, if I do say so myself! Ten vibration settings! Available in fourteen colors, seven of which are glittery! Ahh!!!” Grey babbled on, and Simmons found himself shaking his head at Jensen, who had unsuspectingly walked into his office with her prototype for final approval, only to find Sarge and Grey. 

“Sarge, Emily. I believe you’ve both met Katie before. Katie, our head of medical, Dr. Emily Grey, and Sarge.” He gestured vaguely to both of them, barely looking up from the paperwork in front of his face. 

“Thats...nice. It’s good to meet you both, you especially, Dr. Grey. Not that it’s not nice to meet you, um, Sarge. But I’ve just heard so many stories about Dr. Grey’s latest medical and technological advancements. I’m, just, well, over excited.” Jensen looked suddenly shy. 

“Nonsense! There’s nothing more exciting to myself or my dearest Emily than the latest and greatest in penile prosthetics! We’re quite invested in the fields advancement.” Sarge looked proud of himself. Jensen looked mortified. 

“That’s nice, sir. Can I have, um-” She pointed at the prosthetic Sarge was holding.

“Oh of course! I’d hate to keep you a moment longer! Simmons! I order you to okay this product for production!”

“You haven’t been my C.O. for, like, six years, Sarge. You can’t give orders. But if it makes you feel better, I’ve already approved this for beta testing. And before you ask, yes, you are on the list of those receiving a test product. Now can I please, for the love of god, have five minutes to talk to my engineer without you two cluttering up my office?” Simmons said, moving around his desk while still on his wheelie chair to collect the paperwork he was printing. He had taken his leg off to charge and run diagnostics, so his options were scooch or jump. Neither were graceful. 

Sarge looked affronted, but Grey just took him by the elbow and lead him out of the room, hollering a chipper goodbye over her shoulder. Once the office door was closed with Jensen safely inside, Simmons pointed towards the spare chair in his office, scooching himself from his printer to his desk again. She sat and waited. 

“You’ve already approved this for beta testing?” She asked, her eyes wide. Her lisp made her sound young, but she held herself like she had the world on her shoulders. 

“I told you, Katie. You’re going to make a hell of a leader. I trust you, I trust your judgement. And I trust both you and Lopez to do your jobs, and to do them well. I okayed this project as soon as the file hit my desk.” Simmons answered, signing off on the official form that granted Jensen’s department the appropriate funding. Her eyes bulged at the number. 

“That’s way over what we requested.” She said, almost reverent.

“I ran the numbers. I want this grand scale. You had calculated for a small round of testing, and a small batch for production. This company can support much more than that. Our base prosthetics pull in enough to fund five of this project without causing financial harm. I want to see where you can take this. I want you to show me what you can do.” Katie was looking at him, dumbstruck. 

“Thank you, Sir. But, Sir, can I ask why me and Lopez? I mean, we’re designing a fancy dildo, Sir.” She flushed.

Simmons weighed his options. Could he tell her she was being groomed to take over Simmons’ spot as head engineer and C.F.O. once he retired? She needed years more of experience, but this project was just the start of what she was going to be given by GreyTech. Both Emily and Sarge had jumped on his suggestion of grooming her for the spot in a heartbeat. But telling her that? She’d lose it. Too little approval, and she'd leave the company. Too much, and she’d drag herself down with worry of failure. 

“You are the best of this company, Jensen. That’s why.”

“But Sir, I’m an intern. I’m, like, the most disposable person here.”

“No, you’re  _ my _ intern. Which means I hand picked your application from hundreds of applications. I saw you and your potential, and what you could bring to this company that others couldn’t. If this project goes even half as well as I’m sure it will, you’ll be both offered a job here, and given your own department.”

She stared at him, dumbstruck. “Thank...you…?” She whispered. Simmons smiled at her. 

“I was like you when I started here. Emily picked me, and I’m picking you. I hope you understand the implications of that?” Simmons raised his eyebrows and handed over the paperwork she needed, signed and dated. She nodded at him, clearly slowly working through what all his previous statement had entailed. “Good. Hand me my leg before you leave? I’ve got an appointment after this.”

Jensen left his office practically glowing, although her face was still pinched in either confusion or absolute terror. Simmons chuckled. He would definitely be able to retire early. 

 

****

 

Grif’s phone buzzed in his pocket, grating on his nerves as he tried and failed to focus on the issue in front of him. He reached down without looking and shut it off. He just needed fifteen fucking minutes. Nobody's dick was that fucking important. Chorus, which he begrudgingly had to admit that he adored, was fucking falling apart. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t falling apart. But the dishwasher was broken, so it might as well be. 

“Kai, is there a reason you won’t just call a plumber?” He shouted from his back underneath the pipes of the sink. 

She kicked his knee while swinging her feet. She was sitting on the dish rack above his head. Fucking rude. “Because I know you can fix it, and if you can fix it you save me, like, three hundred dollars. Vic is an asshole remember? One time he tried to charge me for, I shit you not, having to work in a dirty bathroom. Like, buddy, it’s a nightclub. Fight my literal asshole. I don’t give a shit.”

Grif scoffed. “Fair enough.” He found the leaking pipe, and began fiddling with it. He could tell what was wrong, really. It was just a matter of getting Pipe A to get along with Pipe B. But their friend, Mr. Silicone-Piece, was being absolutely zero help. Grif stuck his hand out from under the sink. “Electrical tape?” 

Kai dug around in his tool kit and dropped the bright yellow electrical tape in his hand. 

“Remember that shitty apartment we lived in once mom skipped town?” Kai asked, her legs stilling. “I was sixteen, and she just left. And you just took me in, dropped out of school. You started at that shitty restaurant, remember? Who was that chef you worked for? The loud one?” 

“Texas. She was such a bitch. She threw a meat hammer at my dick once.”

“Oh yeah! God, you came home so rattled.” Kai laughed. “And then Texas just fucking split, left town like she never existed. And the chef just up and offered you her job.”

“Still don’t fucking know why. I couldn’t cook for shit back then.” Grif answered, grunting softly as he clinked his head on a pipe. 

“Please, bro. You were amazing.” Her voice went soft, and she leaned over the edge of the counter to look at him. “You’re why I even bothered opening this place. Without your food, we would have gone under in, like, six months.”

Grif laughed, both at Kai’s blotchy face and her belief that he had somehow built her businesses for her. Or at least Chorus.

“You did this, kiddo. Don’t let anyone tell you different. I would be a line cook right now if it wasn’t for you.”

Kai’s face pinched. “Or an engineer, like you had planned on being. Like you were two years away from being. But you dropped out of school to take me in. And six months later you had two shell-shocked addicts in your house, and nine months after that there was a fucking baby in our one-bedroom.” 

Grif slid out from under the counter, standing and pulling Kai against him. 

“I know this time of year is hard, Kai. I know it brings up so much shit for you. But mom didn’t leave because of you. She didn’t leave because you were a bad kid. She left because she was a bad person. And I’d die before I left you on the streets. It was you and me, or nothing at all. Having you in my life was worth every sacrifice, every double I worked. And here you are, a business woman and total bad-ass, who has a total bad-ass girlfriend and a total bad-ass big brother.”

She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. “She would be so  _ mad _ at us, Grif.” She laughed thickly, her voice filled with tears. “She always said that we had better get  _ real jobs _ and take care of her. And now she’s just fucking gone. And you’re still a fucking cook. And she’d probably assume that I’m a stripper. We’d be such disappointments to her.”

Grif pulled her tighter. “And I couldn’t be any more proud of us than I already am.”

Kai pulled back, wiping her eyes on the sleeve of South’s giant purple sweater. 

“We did okay, didn’t we?” 

“We kicked ass, kid.” Grif answered, reaching down to turn his phone back on. Kai, he knew, would actually murder him it is was something for either Chorus or Blood Gulch. When his screen powered on, his blood ran cold. Holding his phone out to Kai, she sucked in a shallow breath, a hand rising to her mouth. 

Their childhood home, a run down shack in the far outreach of the town limits, was burnt to ashes. And Felix was front and center in the photo, middle finger raised. 

When Grif braved a look at Kai, she had gone rigid. Her eyes were steel. Grif set a hand on her cheek, pressing his forehead to hers. 

“We’ve survived worse, kid.”

“We’ve definitely had better days.” She answered.

Grif smiled and pulled back. “Oh, hell yeah. But we have what he doesn’t.”

Kai returned his smile, but her eyebrows shot up. “And what would that be, big brother?”

“Really pissed off friends.”

She laughed, open and honest and real. They would survive this. They had survived everything else. One last storm, however bad, wouldn’t sink them. He knew it. He just had to make sure Kai continued to believe it. 

  
  


****

 

Wash’s phone would not stop buzzing. Who the hell needed his attention that damn bad? Tucker would text, and he was already on the road, getting Junior out of town for his break, both so he and Wash could have a week to just  _ be _ (since when was Wash that gross of a fuckng romantic?), and so Junior would be out of the way if Felix came barging into their lives again. Wash had heard rumblings from his friends who still ran in Felix’s circle, and he was growing restless after nearly a week of being unable to either play or actual go out. He had been blocked completely from any club worth appearing at. And Wash could tell that his skin was starting to crawl with the inability to move his product.

Wash’s phone buzzed again. Fine. God. 

“You’ve got Washington.” He answered. He was in his apartment, the gym not needing his immediate attention. Both Carolina and Church were downstairs, which meant he could afford to turn his back on his admittedly rowdy clientele. 

“Washy boy…” Felix drawled, high off his ass. “I’m mad, man. I’m fucking pissed. You realize that little whore, Cuntkaina, fucking blacklisted me? Me. Of all fucking people.” Wash heard his snort another line. “I’m coming for her, Davy. She’s gonna watch her whole world turn to fucking ash. I’ve got people, Wash. I’ve got people, and you know it. You used to be one of them. You could be one of us again. Come start a few fires, Agent Washington. You kept the name, why not drop the fucking act?”

“I don’t work like that anymore, Felix. Not since I realized that the people you had me deliver to were set up. You wanted your competitors gone, so you’d send them clean, pure product. Then you’d make a fucking call. Fucking college kids and meth heads, didn’t matter. Anyone who was in your way, you trampled. Kai isn’t the one who should be scared Felix. We’ve got your number. As soon as we make the call, your entire operation blows.” Wash spat, feeling ridiculous as he stood in his kitchen, sliding the knife he kept on his thigh from its holster. 

“Suuuure you do, Washy. Why haven’t you blown the fucking whistle yet? Are you somebody else’s lap dog now? Is Tucker the one who holds the damned leash? He was never the type, with me. But who knows. Maybe even the littlest bitches can be big boys when they’re fucking shit like you.”

Wash saw red. He breathed in through his nose, counted to ten. “You don’t get to speak about him, Felix. Not like that, not at all. And if you have to know, I’m my own master now. If I wasn’t, what’s kept you from coming here? From burning me to the ground? Setting me up? I’ve got the one thing you can’t stand, Felix. Evidence. And I’m going to watch you burn yourself to the ground while you try and start this fucking fire.”

With that, he hung up. He was shaking so hard his breathing was ragged. With numb fingers, he fumbled his way to the ground floor of the gym and flagged down Church and Caroline. 

As he recounted the phone call, Carolina went dangerously still while Church fumed beside her. Wash waved off the other patrons, moving them swiftly into his office. 

“I’m gonna fucking murder him.” Church spat, red and seething. 

“No, you won’t, Church. We’ve got to be objective in this.” Carolina reasoned, standing where she could see the door. Her brother didn’t answer, opting to continue his pacing. 

“We need to warn Kai, obviously. And up security. Me and North can pull a shift at Chorus if you and Church can was Gulch tonight. We won’t be able to leave either business unattended. And we might want to consider consolidating our living quarters, stick as close as possible to each other for a while, until he’s at least got a court date.” Wash said, looking at Carolina. None of them were sitting, their blood singing with a need for revenge. They all had too much to lose. 

“I want his head on a fucking spear, Wash.” Carolina said, voice even, face blank. 

“We’re going to end this, Lina. It’s time to batten down the hatches. This storm is about to get a thousand times worse.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayyyyyyyyyyyy  
> so this chapter is super fucked up and im soz. ive written like 5,000 words today so im kinda dying. i have an exam tomorrow. ive done like none of it. this is my life now.


	10. Survival (a digression)

Grif’s hands were disgustingly sweaty. Who had decided that him asking Simmons out to dinner was a good idea? Who the sweet fuck had encouraged him to do this? The answer was nobody, and that he was the one who had dug the grave he was currently standing in. He checked his phone, seeing Simmons’ and his latest texts.

S:  _ “Stuck at work. Might need to cancel. :/”  _ -Sent @ 6:45

G:  _ “I’ll bring you something? I’m shit at paperwork but I can be free entertainment ;P”  _ -Sent @ 7:02

S:  _ “You’re ridiculous. But I’m never one to say no to eating out.”  _ -Sent @ 7:09

Grif had choked when he saw the last text, almost swerving off the road. 

G:  _ “Good to know. I’ll be there in 20? Any allergies?”  _ -Sent @ 7:17

S:  _ “I...did not realize how that sounded. Oops. And no, no allergies. See you then!”  _ -Sent @ 7:20

Grif was grinning stupidly at his phone, like some sort of fucking teenager. How did some scrawny ginger make him feel like he was a college freshman again, all flustered and giddy. Shaking his head and parking his car in Chorus’s lot. He ran inside, finding Wash and North leaning against the front doorway. They stopped him momentarily, their voices teasing as they asked him who he was rushing off to. 

“Jesus. Am I not allowed to pick up food from my own fucking restaurant?”

Wash grinned at him, but before he could say anything, Bitters popped around the corner of the door with Grif’s order in hand. The wicked grin on his face made Grif want to light him on fire. 

“Take out for two?” He asked, handing Grif his paper bag and winking before disappearing back into the kitchen. Grif sighed, braving a look at Wash and North’s faces. Motherfuckers looked so fucking smug. 

“I’m leaving before you two-” Grif pointed to them both, “get any ideas about asking questions. Maybe I’m eating all of this myself. You don’t know.”

“Then why are you getting all defensive about it?” North asked, voice even and expression mild. Grif flipped him off, and flipped off Wash too, for good measure. Fucking assholes. 

 

****

 

Simmons was an adult, damn it. He shouldn’t be terrified of the man coming up to his office. But the moment his phone had buzzed, a request from the parking garage to bring the elevator up, he felt sick. Why was he so afraid again? Rationally, if Grif were going to either murder him or reject him, he would have done one or the other already. Or even both. Both was always an option. 

He bit his lip at he reflected on the one thing he had held off on telling Grif. How does a dude just casually bring up that he’s trans in a conversation? Was there a casual way to say ‘Sorry I don’t have a dick I hope that doesn’t make this weird’? Simmons didn’t think so. Although realistically, that exact phrasing could work. He sighed. No wonder he was still painfully single. 

A light knock at his office door ripped him from his train of thought. He got up to answer it, realizing suddenly that he was about to have a very good looking, incredibly out of his league man alone, in his office, in an empty building. God save his gay ass. 

Grif’s face was somehow both cheerful and uncertain as he walked into the office.

“You’ve got a nice place here, Sim. Jesus.” Grif said, setting the food on the space Simmons had made on his desk.

Simmons could feel himself swell with pride. “It could be much worse, I’ll give you that. We’re pretty proud of what we’ve built.” He answered, helping Grif as he set about arranging things. “This smells amazing.”

It was Grif’s turn to hide a proud grin. “My trainee, some college kid with a vendetta against being on time, made it. I think he might actually be learning something.” 

“Trainee?” Simmons’ curiosity was peaked. Didn’t Grif own a club?

“Yeah. I was head chef at that restaurant Chorus for, like, six years. When my sister, Kai, opened her new club, I started training in a replacement.” Grif shook his head. “You mentioned a ‘we’?”

Simmons sat across his desk from Grif, gesturing to the spare chair. The settled into their meal while Simmons tried to think of a way to explain Sarge and Grey’s roles. 

“Emily Grey, the company's namesake, is our head of medical and integration. Sarge, her husband, was my C.O. back when I was enlisted. He was the one who okayed all of...this.” He pointed to his prosthetics. “He’s got some great ideas as far as practical advancements, so he’s, god fucking knows how, in our P.R. department. I’m head of engineering, and recently, C.F.O., since Sarge scared off our most recent hire.”

Grif nodded, swallowing his mouthful of food before answering. “Sarge was the dude in red, right? At the club?”

Simmons felt mortification bubble up in his throat. Of course Grif would remember that. “Yeah. Not the finest moment for either of us, admittedly. It was a bad night.”

Grif waved his hand, dismissive. “I’ve dealt with worse. At least you guys tipped. You can be pretty much as rude as you want if you tip your server. I don’t rely on it anymore, thank god, but most do. If it pays, it stays.”

He blinked at Grif. He’d never had to deal with that, since he went straight into the military after high school. “How did you wind up becoming a chef?” He asked, searching for an easier topic. 

Grif grimaced. Maybe not his most graceful topic change, then. “It was a job, originally. I raised my sister, and we supported each other for her last two years of school. Kitchen work paid enough. The chef I was working under skipped town one night, I got promoted. Once Kai graduated, she decided to open up Chorus. I followed.” 

“She sounds pretty great. And from what I’ve heard from Wash, absolutely terrifying.”

“She’s a hellion. It’s seen her through some tough spots though, so I try not to complain.”

Simmons found himself smiling. He liked Grif, liked this. The fact that the man across from his was infinitely out of his league put a damper on the mood, but Simmons was an expert in ignoring pretty much any issue he couldn’t deal with. Hooray for dissociation. 

Grif’s brown eyes were warm and bright as they watched Simmons. He looked almost like he didn’t know what to make of him.

“Sarge is sort of like that for me. My parents didn’t like me much, after I came out. Sarge was a weird, intense old man, but in my four years with him, he never let anyone treat me lesser because I’m...not the military definition of manly. Because I was a nerd who study aerodynamic engineering in his spare time? Sure. But he made sure we were all safe. He’s a piece of work, but he’s a good man.”

The knot in Simmons’ stomach eased a little as Grif just nodded. Maybe he was a slow thinker. Maybe it would take him a minute to figure out what he had said. Maybe he was going to launch himself across the desk and murder Simmons. Who fucking knew. 

“He sounds like an older, more bitter version of Wash.” Grif finally said, meeting Simmons eyes. He looked delighted, like he had just given him the best piece of information ever.

“Holy fuck. You’re right. Jesus fuck.” Simmons said, resting his head in his hands and laughing right along with Grif. “Oh he’s gonna be so pissed.”

“Serves him right. He was giving me shit earlier when I picked up the food. Rude ass.” He smiled warmly at Simmons. “Although he is the one who encouraged me to come here, so I can’t say too much shit about him.”

“Why’s that?” Simmons said, mouth full of whatever the hell Grif had brought. Shit was fucking delicious.

Grif face went still, like he was weighing just how bad all of the answers that came to mind really were. Simmons didn’t push. “This is nice, is all. My life is a little crazy right now, honestly. A nice, normal, average ass date is exactly what I needed.”

_ Date, date, date _ . Simmons’ brain was flashing red alerts. He was an adult man. He could go on a date. He could survive one date. He could sit through this and not. Get. Weird. 

 

****

 

Grif was trying to remain calm. Really. Honestly. But the second the word ‘date’ had left his mouth, Simmons looked like he just fucking went offline. What was he supposed to do with that, exactly?

Clearing his throat, he tried again. “This doesn’t have to be a date, if you’re not looking for that.” He reached for whatever suave bullshit Wash would say to get himself out of this. “I’m down for whatever.”

That was the wrong thing to say (but when did Grif even know the right things to say? Fuck his life, honestly). Simmons just nodded, solely focused on his food, which he was both not eating and staring at so hard it was probably going to catch on fire. 

“I’d like this, to um, to be a date.” He answered eventually. Grif tried to smooth out his fucking ruffled feathers. Who the fuck was this guy? And why did it matter if he just wanted in Grif’s pants? A good hookup was just as nice as dating, wasn’t it? Regardless, he felt the knot of anxiety ease in his chest. Simmons looking up at him over his mostly finished food was all he could fucking handle. The fucking deer in the headlight look on his face, his fucking built frame somehow both imposingly fit and incredibly compact. Grif wanted to fucking jump him, press him against his office’s stupidly expensive floor-to-ceiling windows and fuck him until he couldn’t think. 

Jesus, this dude was gonna kill him. He was suddenly incredibly grateful for the desk between them. 

 

****

 

Grif looked like he wanted to strangle him. Maybe he did. Simmons’ anxiety-riddled brain couldn’t keep up. What was he supposed to do. First it was a date, and then it was a hook up, and now this not date/not hook up dude was watching him from across his desk like he either wanted to fuck him up or fuck his brains out. And he really couldn’t decide which one made more sense. 

Simmons, for one, wanted the desk to no longer be where it was. Either so he could sprint to the door or crawl into Grif’s lap. Wasn’t he supposed to want to escape the room with the livid/aroused giant cis dude in front of him? Wasn’t there some survival instinct animalistic bullshit that was supposed to save him from situations where he could potentially either have a good time or get murdered? Maybe he could just die of mortification before Grif could murder and/or reject him. Grif was still watching him, his eyes intense while tracing his movements. God. Who the fuck gave a relative stranger the right to fuck with his brain like this? He was an engineer. A scientist. He was supposed to be a goddamned objective adult. Not some horney and terrified teenager who couldn’t decide if he was afraid or turned on. 

Without anything to focus his restless energy on, he started cleaning up their meal. He had finished enough to not seem like an asshole, right? Grif moved to help him, closing the takeout containers and tossing them into the bag they had come from. Good. He should probably leave before Simmons had a heart attack. Or a panic attack. Either seemed like a viable fucking option. Before he could process, the food was put away. And without warning, Grif set the bag neatly under his chair and moved around Simmons’ desk. Simmons stood, not knowing quite what else to do with that. Maybe Grif was going to punch him? He should be standing if he was going to take a hit. That’s what Wash would say, right?

Grif was in his space, facing him as Simmons tried to keep himself from fluttering around his office and organizing...something. Anything to keep his hands busy. Before he could snap and move away, Grif reached both hands up and cupped his jaw. He was studying Simmons’ face, waiting for a reaction that apparently never came. 

Simmons could practically feel the tension ease from Grif’s body as he leaned in and pressed their lips together. It was shockingly chaste, and Grif pulled back before he could even reciprocate. He waited a moment, his grip on Simmons’ jaw loose enough to slip away. Fucking bullshit. 

Simmons reached up, grabbing a handful of long curls and pulling Grif back against him, using the leverage to press his torso against him, his other hand fisting in Grif’s shirt. This was an incredibly bad idea. Possibly one of his worst. But Grif was warm and soft in the best possible ways, curving perfectly against him and lifting him to his toes. 

Grif did his best to stay in control, one hand still on his jaw and the other curling around his hip. He slowed Simmons, creating enough distance to make eye contact. He blinked, slow and careful, until Simmons felt anxiety creeping back up his spine. Maybe he had misread the situation? Could you misread someone kissing you? Was that a thing?

“I’m trans.” He spat out, flustered into returning to his factory settings. If Grif wasn’t wigged out by Simmons as a person, he had to at least be bothered by him awkwardly trying to out himself, like, multiple times. Grif just blinked at him some more. God fucking damn. “Like, very trans. Entirely trans. I have no dick. So you’re either chill with that or you, I don’t know, get out. I have a lot of stock responses to this exact situation. You not reacting at all is not in my fucking script.” He was very aware of just how in his space Grif still was. 

The hand around his hip tightened, the hand on his jaw pushed him back. There it was. Now that this dude had pieced it together, Simmons could get on with kicking him out and moping in silence.

“That’s…” Grif looked dumbstruck. “I can’t even explain to you how much of a non issue that is, dude.” 

It was Simmons’ turn to stare. “How is that a non-issue? It has, historically, been a pretty huge issue.” 

Anger crept onto Grif’s face, slow, and by some miracle,  _ not  _ directed at Simmons. He crowded him up against his desk, suddenly intense and incredibly intent. He kissed him again, hard, and lifted Simmons so he was sitting on his desk. 

“Who the fuck-” he slid a hand to the small of Simmons’ back, pulling them, somehow, closer. “Told you that that’s a fucking issue.”

Simmons wanted to keep going, wanted to keep feeling Grif’s hips grind slowly against his own, stuttering and unsure. He wanted Grif to keep pressing sloppy kisses against any skin he could reach. Wanted his hands all over him until he was touch drunk and breathless. Grif must have felt it in Simmons’ wandering hands, or in how he crossed his ankles behind him, locking their hips together so that he could control the rhythm. He lifted Simmons with his hands under his thighs, robbing him of the slow friction he had been so lost in the moment before. Fucking rude ass. 

Grif walked them to the couch Simmons had set up in his office for nights when he didn’t make it back to his apartment, dropping him and then rushing right back into his space, crowding him against the arm of the couch. He refused to put him weight on Simmons,no matter how much he pulled at his clothes or tried to scooch his way underneath him. Fine. If he couldn’t be under, he’d be over. He pulled away from Grif’s mouth, biting at his jawline, his ear, and down his neck., pushing aside the loose neck of his shirt to bite a bruise into the skin. Reaching a hand between them, he grabbed at Grif’s dick through his jeans, feeling his intake of breath at the pressure. Bracing a hand on Grif’s chest, Simmons moved him back until he was seated on his hips, their positions reversed. Ideally, Simmons would get fucked into the couch. But if Grif’s hangup was topping, he could so, so work with that. 

Grif was grinning underneath his, his hands working on Simmons’ button up while Simmons worked on the fly of his jeans. The position was awkward, the couch leaving exactly zero inches of space to actually have a good time. 

Standing, Simmons started to pull his half-undone shirt back on. Grif’s face was devastated for a moment, shame flushing his cheeks. Fuck. Simmons leaned over him, kissing him until he could feel the flush go down. He leaned close to his ear, letting his lips brush against it. 

“My place?”

Grif nodded enthusiastically, sitting up and doing his pants back up. Flushed and clearly hard in his dark jeans, he practically glued himself to Simmons’ back as they made their way to the elevator, pressing him against the wall and palming Simmons through his slacks as they descended to the parking garage. Fuck. He wanted to stay like that forever. Palming each other in the lift like fucking interns, grinding in the abandoned hallways of GreyTech. He’d give his other fucking leg to just have Grif slip his hands into his boxers and finish him, fast and hard. The elevator doors opened, and a wounded noise left him without intent when Grif dragged him towards his car, digging the keys from Simmons’ pocket for him, practically shoving him into the driver’s seat. 

The drive was hell. Grif kept a hand on his upper thigh, pressing slow circles in time with the hand he was pressing against his dick in his pants. 

By the grace of god, somehow, they made it into his apartment without getting caught. The fifteen minute commute had never taken longer. Not once. 

Grif was on his the second the door was locked, shoving a hand down his pants, wiggling them off of his hips. Simmons kicked his pants off, leading the way to his bed as Grif waged war against his own clothing. By the time they fell into Simmons’ bed, they were both naked. Grif’s body was...too much. Simmons wanted to taste every inch of skin, but he settled for positioning himself between Grif’s thighs, biting at the tender skin.

“You don’t have to-oh fuck.” Grif said, whatever self-deprecating bullshit he was about to spew buried in the back of his mind as Simmons sucked harshly at the head of his cock. He tangled a hand in Simmons’ hair, guiding him slowly down his length. Simmons hummed, rolling Grif’s balls in his hand and reveling in the groan that it dragged from him. 

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” He muttered as Simmons pulled back, kissing his way back up Grif’s body, bruising his soft skin with his teeth. Without warning, Grif flipped them. He held his weight on his forearms, but his hips pressed tight along Simmons’. He didn’t wait for the other man to process, just leaned to his ear, biting at his neck.

“What are you comfortable with?” He asked, stilling his hips. 

“Anything. Everything. Just don’t get weird about...all of it.” Simmons felt suddenly viciously self-conscious. Grif muttered something against his neck, shifting down his body. Was this Simmons’ sex life? Head from dangerous/attractive men? He could get behind that. 

The first press of Grif’s mouth against him was...average. Anticlimactic. He canted his hips up, hoping to find a better angle. Grif growled against him, nipping at him while looping a forearm over his hips, pressing him down into the mattress. Simmons’ toes curled. Fucking hell. Grif must have noted the reaction, because he dug his nails against his skin, leaving red marks wherever he went. His free hand came to tease at Simmons’ entrance before one thick finger slowly sank in, moving in pace with Grif’s mouth. 

“Fuck, Grif.” He bit out, fisting his organic hand in Grif’s hair. A second finger joined the first, stroking Simmons until he felt high. So close, so damn  _ close _ . Before he could come, though, Grif was pulling away, finally resting himself over Simmons’ body. His red dick slid against Simmons, lighting every nerve on fire. God, he wanted to die. 

“Please, please. Grif. You gotta. I wanna. Please.” He babbled, knew he was babbling. But Grif had felt  _ good _ and then he had  _ stopped _ and Simmons might actually  _ die _ if he didn’t get off soon. Grif kissed along his toper surgery scars, bit at his nipples, slid his fingers back inside of Simmons, fingering him slowly, teasingly. 

“Please what?” Grif asked, his tone of voice far too light for just how dizzy Simmons felt. He bit his lip. He wouldn’t fucking beg. A third finger slid inside of him, but Grif didn’t move any faster, content to just let the broken noises spilling from Simmons continue on forever, it seemed. 

“Wanna be fucked. Want you to fuck me. Please, god, I’m so close.” He whined, clutching at Grif’s arm. He felt empty as Grif removed his fingers and rummaged through his bedside drawer for lube and a condom. Fucking hell. This was not how Simmons’ late nights at work usually went. 

Grif slid inside of him, slower than he had when he was teasing. His face was pressed into Simmons’ neck, sucking bruises that were sure to show over his shirt collar. 

When Simmons whined and bucked his hips up, tugging at Grif’s hair to get him to move faster, or fucking at all, Grif seemed to almost snap. With one hand on his neck and the other on his hip, he set a brutal pace. Simmons came hard, arching off of his bed and further into Grif’s body. The other man wasn’t far behind, still just before Simmons’ could start whining from the overstimulation. 

They lay side by side, catching their breaths. When he braved a look at Grif, his face was blissed out. 

“Do you want to stay the night?” He blurted, unsure of how else to phrase the question. Grif rolled on top of him, kissing him slow and burning. 

“Hell yes.I’m nowhere near finished with you yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HAVE NO FUCKING SHAME OKAY. I CANT WRITE SMUT BUT I /TRIED/ SO BUGGER OFF. Also I hope youre all having a nice week and enjoy this chapter. This fic is gonna wind down in about 2-3 chapters, but i wanted a good ol grimmons moment before then. Hope you enjoy!


	11. Veux (a digression)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this instead of doing the french homework that im horribly behind on finals week is killing me god save me  
> have another digression bc idgaf and i do what i want with the shitpost of a fic  
> ily and enjoy  
> after this update the hiatus is back on i just am So Done Tongith who the fuck even gives a rats ass right? right.

****Tucker has a panic attack during sex. Wash is a True Romantic. I'm Trash. Nothing is new****

 

 

Wash was never one to take his frustration out on others. Or he was, but he tried to at least be subtle about it. With Junior out of the house, he didn’t ever remotely have to pretend that fucking Tucker wasn’t some sort of insanely great stress relief. 

Normally, fucking on the couch like teenage boys would be the worst thing. But Wash had gained a new perspective on living room sex since dating a guy with a kid. Any flat surface on which they would not get caught was good enough for him. The soft, almost wounded noises Tucker was making from on top of him were not making him feel any guiltier. 

“Wash, Wash, baby. You gotta - ugh- I’m g’nna-” Tucker babbled, rolling his hips into every one of Wash’s thrusts. Summoning every shred of self control he (may have ever, at any point,  _ ever _ ) possessed, Wash still his hips, anchoring Tucker down with his hands. Pulling him down so they were chest to chest, Wash whispered in his ear. 

“Not yet, baby. Gonna feel so good, so good when you finally come. You just gotta wait, I promise.”

Tucker sobbed into his collarbone, trying and failing to grind down against the grip of Wash’s hands. Finally he stilled, and Wash slid them apart, pushing the other man back until he was lying, legs spread, on the couch in front of him. His hair was spread out around his head, one arm thrown petulantly over his eyes. Wash took advantage of his momentary blind spot, falling back into Tucker’s space and sliding into him again, as slow as he could manage. The broken, stuttering sound it dragged from his partner's throat was enough to have Wash snapping his hips forward. Tucker’s hands were everywhere at once, scratching down his back, caressing at his neck, tracing over his spine, settling on Wash’s waist and simply  _ holding,  _ nails digging in. Wash stilled, opening his eyes. Tucker’s face was screwed up in panic, twisted in a way that had Wash slowly pulling back and out of his space entirely. 

“Don’t go.” Tucker whined, reaching for him again. 

Wash stayed upright, on his knees in front of, and somewhat over top of, Tucker’s rigid form. He pressed a hand to the other man’s ribs, pushing him to sit up. Once Tucker was almost eye level, Wash set about pulling his pants on, grabbing them from their convenient (if embarassing) location on the coffee table. He grabbed a blanket from the floor and settled it over Tucker’s body. 

“Can I ask where you’re at right now?” He asked, trying to keep his voice soft and neutral. Tucker looked at him, eyes blank. His breathing was ragged, his body still stiff. He shrugged. “You don’t have to have an answer, if they’re isn’t one. But if it’s somewhere I can follow i wanna be able to be there with you.” 

Tucker’s eyes filled with tears as he slowly came back to himself, his glassy eyes seeming to shatter. His voice was sad and thick with tears when he finally spoke. 

“I didn’t mean to ruin-” He gestured between himself and Wash, clearly bothered by the distance Wash had created. “You could have finished.”

Wash froze, feeling either guilty or angry, possibly both. He settled on protective and tried to figure out how to deal with that. Leaning into Tucker a bit, a hand on his shoulder, he tried to meet his eyes. 

“Whatever we do, we do together, okay? If you want to stop, or need to stop, I’m never going to push you for more. Your body isn’t public domain. If we’re having sex, it’s me and you, not me and your body.” He tried to convey the weight, what he really meant, but Tucker still seemed so far, even as he curled closer to Wash’s side from where the sat shoulder to shoulder on the couch. 

They were silent for a while as Tucker came back to himself, stitching himself together. After a small eternity, he pulled away enough to look up at Wash’s face. 

“I’m sorry, about that. After, after everything. Sometimes I’m just not. Not able to do that. Should have said so before.” His voice was low, dry. He looked closer to the surface, but still half drowned in himself. 

Wash searched for anything that could make sense of what was racing through his head.  _ I love you, I don’t care that I didn’t know. I wish I had seen the signs before. I wish I had paid more attention. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry. _ “It was a miscommunication. We’ll do better next time. Or we can just take a break from...those activities...for a while. I’m in no rush, not with you.”

Tucker was looking at him like he had just taken a breathe underwater. “You just roll with that?” 

Wash shrugged, pulling Tucker back against him. “For you, always.” 


	12. The End of an Empire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Its over. I did it. Thanks for reading.

Felix had one to many questions and ten too few answers. Was he asking too much? He hadn’t demanded the world. Just obedience, just a little peace and fucking quiet in his life. He had just wanted things to be  _ good _ again, and Tucker had to go and fuck it up. If that was how he wanted to play, fine. Felix was never one to shy away from a game of chicken. 

The issue that presented itself was that Felix was lying on his back, his nose more than likely broken, in a warehouse filling with drugs, with Wash standing over him. Locus was behind him, face blank and shoulders squared. Felix felt blood trickle from a cup in his lip. How had his perfectly groomed life reached this point, exactly?

 

****

 

*Four hours earlier*

 

Wash was used to his life being fairly routine. Getting a call from Felix was not routine. Getting a call from Locus was beyond unexpected and reached into the territory of impossible. 

“Wash.” Locus repeated, his voice even. “Junior is my son, Wash. And Felix wants to gain custody. I won’t watch him consume anyone else.”

Wash held his breath, counted down from ten in his head. “And why are you asking me for help?”

There was a pause that matched his own on the other end of the line. 

“Because I know you’ll do what you have to to keep Junior safe. Even if that means throwing me to the wolves right along with Felix.”

“I would, without a thought. Do you have a plan?”

“No. Not a good one, anyways. North reached out to me this morning, said that so long as I could get Felix into his actual supply warehouse tonight, he’d have the cops waiting, if not the feds. Didn’t explain how, just that he could and he would. But Felix won’t go near the warehouse, he knows he walking a thin line on this. I need help getting him there.”

Wash felt a slow smile grow on his face. “And you think I’m who you need?”

“I know you are. He can’t hurt Junior, Wash. He’s done enough to too many people already. That kid won’t get caught in his fucking crossfire. Not again.”

“Get him outside of the apartment, and make sure he’s high. I’ll do the rest.”

Locus hung up without another word, but Wash knew he’d follow through, somehow. 

 

****

 

Tucker liked to think his life was fairly normal. Liked his quiet life, his goofy kid, his shitty job. But having Wash call him and tell him that Locus was finally going after Felix, and that North was in on the whole thing, and that Wash was also somehow (most likely illegally) involved? Not normal, not at all. 

Tucker sat across from Wash, the late afternoon light spilling into the apartment lighting him like some stupid instagram filter. 

“And how do I play into this?” He asked, stirring his coffee. 

Wash grimaced. “We need bait.” He bit it out, like each word tasted bitter.

Tucker grinned. “Dude, I’m so fucking in. I want South in on this too. We both deserve fucking retribution.” 

 

****

 

Simmons was good at his job, he was good at keeping things maintained and orderly. Waking up next to Grif was not exactly orderly. His phone ringing loudly in his ear was not helping. Grif reached out blindly to try and silence it, but Simmons reached it first. 

“Wha’?” He answered when he saw Wash’s contact pop up. 

“I need a favor.” Wash said, clearly intent.

“Anything.” Simmons answered, already rising.

“I’ve told you about Felix, right? The dude I worked for who was totally not a drug lord but is definitely a drug lord?” 

“Yeah, yeah. He’s fucking up shit again, right?”

Wash paused. “Yes?”

“I, um, I might be sort of dating Grif. I’m not sure yet. But he talks a lot. So I’ve heard stories.”

Wash laughed seemingly in spite of himself. “I like how the world is almost ending and you still find a way to get laid. Excellent work, Dick.”

“The favor you needed?” Simmons asked, dressing as he heard Grif stir. At least he wouldn’t have to explain this to him.

“A getaway car. And maybe some back up. I’m not sure yet. North, the buddy of mine in the F.B.I., can get the cops to where Felix stores his shit, but any of us that are there when they show up are screwed.”

“I’ll talk to Sarge. How many people?”

“With all of us? Eight. Why?”

“Why the fuck do you think? A sportscare is the fastest getaway, but eight people wont fit in my fucking lambo, you asshole. Sarge has his Wrangler, the top is still off from summer, too. We’ll have to pile in, but we’ll fit. Text me the address and the time, and I’ll be there.”

Wash sighed. “Semper Fi?”

“Do or die.” Simmons hung up, and moved back towards his bed, fully dressed. He leaned over Grif’s still sleeping body. He pressed a kiss to Grif’s ear, down his neck. Grif slowly stirred, wrapping an arm around Simmons before he realized that only one of them was still under the covers.

“What are you doing?” He laughed, sitting up. 

“We have a mission. Wanna help?”

Grif’s smile was blinding.

 

****

 

Kai had never pictured herself riding into a proverbial battle to save her girlfriend, but her life was weird anyways, right? So when she got the call from Grif, rallying the troops, she said yes without thought. If Grif was doing it, she totally had to. It helped that he had said he would be picking her up in a bright red Wrangler, armed and ready for anything. Maybe her brother could actually be badass. Or maybe his new boy toy was just making him seem tougher. Seriously, who gave a tiny ginger the right to show up to her apartment wearing knives sheathed to his arms and looking like she should call him ‘daddy’? Rude. 

“What are we doing again, exactly?” She shouted to Ginger Guy as the wind whipped through her hair. With Grif in the driver’s seat, she was shocked she could push down her upset stomach enough to get the words out. 

“A favor.” Ginger answered, a wicked grin on his face. 

Kai could feel static under her skin. She wanted to feel her teeth clack together as her chin scrapped the pavement, wanted to get into a fistfight with a god. The night air blew her curls into a frenzy. She found herself smiling back.

 

****

 

Felix did not like the ominous sound of sirens in the distance, or how Wash and Locus were dragging him towards Tucker and South like they had a right to. Wash forced him to his knees as Locus handed Tucker a packet of powder and South a syringe. 

Tucker dumped the fine powder into his palm, looking at it hungrily. Felix found himself hopeful, until his hungry eyes were focused on his instead. Felix braced for an impact that never came as Tucker walked towards him, hand held out. Instead of the sharp sting of the powder entering his nose, he felt a gentle hand cup his face, smearing the substance into his skin. 

South moved next, the needle in her hands glinting in a way that could only be called ominous. 

“South, baby.” Felix started, but South knelt in front of him and pressed a hand over his mouth. With a blank face, she pressed the syringe into his hand. 

“If you don’t use this, we’ll get you out of here. You won’t get caught, you won’t lose everything. But you have to walk away. You have to put this down.” She said, her voice cold and distant. 

Felix looked down at the needle, liked the powder off of his lips. She was bluffing. South had always been too soft, anyways. He lined the needle up with a vein, gritting his teeth against the burn. Before he could finish, a foot to his back pressed him to the floor. 

“We’re done here.” South said, her voice finally expressive. She sounded sick. 

The sirens kept getting louder. But the silence in the warehouse stretched on forever. Locus looked down at him. 

“Locus, baby, you gotta help me.” His nose was pressed to the concrete floor, sending sparks of pain through his face. 

Locus just shook his head and then turned to Wash. 

“We need to leave. Is your rescue here?” He asked, and Wash nodded. 

Without another word to Felix, they left, and his empire crumbled. 

 

****

 

South would only ever describe that night as horror-filled. But in the back of her mind, she carried the image of Kai, standing up in the backseat of a Jeep, waving a machete in the air as she grinned. It had been the worst night. But she had survived, like she had survived everything else. Like she would survive the inevitable trial of Felix, where she would be endlessly questioned, where she would be endlessly doubted. 

Her brother had orchestrated the perfect crime. Felix, freshly high and looking as if he had just taken a beating, in a warehouse filled with drugs, surrounded by connections who would leave him bleeding out just to ensure he moved their product. It was far from the truth. But South couldn’t make herself care. He was done for, his precious control shattered along with his nose.  

As she fell asleep against Kai’s chest that night, she wondered if she could start to do more than just survive now that he was gone. 

 

****

 

Grif loved noise, loved bright lights, lived for the noise and energy of the club. He had assumed Simmons would hate it, but as he parked the Jeep behind Blood Gulch, Simmons looked ready to party with the best of them. As he unlocked the doors, walking into the club and turning on the lights, he looked ready to pounce. By the time the night was in full swing, the club open and staffed by the kids of Chorus so that he and Tucker could have the night off, Simmons was plastering himself to Grif’s body, his hands greedy as he moved with him. 

Wash had been right, Simmons wreaked havoc on Grif’s ability to give a shit about being appropriate. He wanted Simmons pressed as close as he could get him, wanted to watch the lights flash off of all of his prosthetics. But Simmons dragged them towards the bar, a smirk on his lips. 

Jensen, who was apparently Simmons’ intern, was leaning against the bar talking to Palomo. Donut was next to her, chatting away, with Doc curled against his side. Simmons waved, confident and bright. 

“Sir!” Jensen shouted, awkward and formal. Grif could see why Simmons liked her. “I didn’t realize you would, um, be here.” She tugged at her dress, flushing. 

Simmons laughed. “I didn’t realize you would be here either. But since neither of us should be, I say we call it even.”

Donut smiled at Simmons over Jensen’s shoulder. “Katie and I dated in college. She was just telling me about her newest project. Said she even picked the silicone especially for me, even offered me a prototype. I’m hoping she’s as generous sober as she is tipsy, because I’m sure Frankie and I would both enjoy helping her test her new product.”

Doc squeaked, blushing. Gross. 

Grif found himself dragging Simmons back towards the dance floor after only a few minutes, wanting him to himself again. Call him selfish, whatever, but Donut was way too flirty for someone in a committed relationship. The fact that O’Mally had cropped up next to his brother, his sugar daddy, a man who went only by Delta and wouldn’t look any of them in the eye, glued to his side, was the last straw. Grif wanted to stay sane, damn it. 

Simmons did his best to make that difficult. 

“Wanna go back to my place?” Grif offered, pressing him lips to Simmons’ ear as he shouted over the music. Simmons just nodded and grabbed Grif’s hands, guiding him outside. 

By the time they made it into the Jeep, Grif was already distracted, running his fingertips along Simmons’ thigh, grinding the heel of his hand against his crotch just to hear him hold his breath. 

“You can’t calm down for two minutes while I start the car?” SImmons asked, laughing at Grif’s urgency, or maybe at his own. 

“Not a fucking chance. The guy I’m dating looked like a knife wielding maniac earlier today, and he hasn’t fucked me yet. There’s only so much a guy can handle.” Grif offered in way of explanation. Simmons just laughed and started the car, and turned towards home. 

 

****

 

Locus wasn’t used to kind gestures. Tucker had been the closest to a friend he’d had in years. And now Tucker was standing across from him in his kitchen, eyes filled with tears. 

“He’s yours?” Tucker asked, voice thick. “How the fuck do you know he’s yours?”

“Timing. And research. I suspected. I collected Felix’s semen. He’s barren, Tucker. Was a year after you left, and I’m sure long before that, too. I’ll do a paternity test, if you want it. I’ll do anything you ask. I won’t tell him. I just want to see him, every once in a while, once I have a life. I don’t want to be a stranger to him.” Locus found his voice cracking as he spoke. 

Without warning, Tucker had crossed the kitchen and had his arms around Locus’s shoulders. “We’ll do a test, to make sure. But I believe you. I want it to be you. You deserve to get to know him, if he’s yours. He’s a good kid.”

“A great kid, if he’s anything like his father.”

“His bio dad’s are pretty great. I don’t think he could be anything but awesome.”

Locus fell asleep on Tucker’s couch that night to the sounds of a newsreel telling the story of a major drug bust in the warehouse district. He was peaceful. He had hope. He was free. 

 

****

 

*Six months later*

 

“Daaaaaaaaaadsssss!” Junior shouted, running across the empty dance floor at Blood Gulch. The heels of his new prosthetics lit as he took each step. 

Locus, Wash, and Tucker all turned, watching as he skidded to a stop. Junior grinned up at them, his eyes as bright as his gap toothed grin. 

“Aunty Kai wants to do cake. She says that it’s her birthday and so she gets to choose when we do it, so we’re doing it before dinner. I  _ told _ her it’s bad luck. But she won’t listen. So you need to come right now and help.” He said, scuffing the floor with his toes. 

Wash smiled at him, his heart melting. The word ‘dad’ repeated over and over in his mind. He was a dad. He was Juniors dad. Locus shared a look with him, and both of them smiled. They could do this. 

Tucker grabbed Junior’s shoulders, turning him towards the bar and the subsequent mess his friends made. 

“You hear him, dads. Lets go. Family outing to keep Kaikaina Grif from cursing herself forever.” Tucker laughed over his shoulder, and both Wash and Locus followed.

 

****

*two years later*

 

Simmons couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t fucking breathe. His life wasn’t real. How in sweet fuck did he reach this point. 

Grif sat across their dining table from him, blank faced, looking from the pregnancy test on the table to Simmons’ stomach, to his eyes, and repeating. God. Unholy mother of all hell spawned creatures. Fuck him. Fuck it. 

“What do you want to do?” Grif asked, cautious. 

Simmons bit his tongue. He could lie. He could get up and leave and walk out, delete Grif’s number and just stop existing in his life. But it was time to stop running. 

“I’m keeping it.” Simmons said, leaning back and crossing his arms. A final decision. 

Grif beamed at him, tears filling his eyes. “Seriously? We’re doing this? You wanna do this?” Simmons just nodded, but Grif circled the table, crouching down between his knees where he sat on the chair. “Marry me?”

“Hell yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is rushed and not exactly what I wanted for this story, but I need to wrap this up. I'm also hella tired so this chapter might be taken down and edited later. Either way, thanks for reading. You guys have been great.

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this fic for a dear friend who asked for an asshole simmons/server grif fic. I took some artistic liberty. Suck it Kayla.


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